Boy Camping.

Every year, to kick off summer vacation in the most epic of fashions, my boys - along with one of Kev's best friends and his boy - go on an "all guy only" three day and two night tenting and fishing trip down in the Mattagamon wilderness.  They have been doing this since Jesse was about three years old, and it's one of their absolute most favorite summer traditions.  We were trying to remember exactly what number trip this makes for the guys, and we think this is about their 5th go around.  This year was Ransom's first to join the big boys, so London and I were left home alone, free and clear of all things loud and rowdy.

Three hour nap.  Right here on the side of the river.

Every year, the boys tell me somewhat sheepishly that they're going to miss me, and they really wish that I could go, but "This is just an all boys, no girls allowed trip...you understand, don't you Mama?"

Oh yes, my Loves.
Trust me.  No hard feelings here.
All boy trips have quite a different flavor than the trips that have one or two women present.

Exhibit A:

This year, "just for fun" they decided to walk a mile and a half into the fly infested woods to look for a fishing hole that  might possibly be amazing.  It might not be too.  But, we should check it out "just for fun."  They caught a kajillion bug bites - and very few if any fishies - and then traipsed themselves a mile and half back out the same trail.  Three miles.  Round trip.  Straight into Bug Land.

So sad I missed that experience, said I, not even once in my life.....

And Exhibit B:

The crowning moment of this entire all-boy trip, however -  that I'm not even the least bit sorry that I missed out on, by the way - was in the middle of one of those nights, one of the boys completely woofed his cookies all over one of the other boys...and the completely hurled on boy had nary a clue that it even happened.  He just kept on sleeping all blissy like.  Well, that is until the next morning when he crawled out of the tent with the entire front of his shirt covered, and he said to his father in the most curious of voices:  "Um, Daddy?  There's something slimy all over my shirt...and it smells like puke!"  Aaaah, well Buddy....that's because it is puke.

Classic.
They'll be talking about this for years to come.

In fact, Kev took vast amounts of glee and pleasure in re-telling me this story while I was trying to eat my supper after coming home from work the next night.  We almost had "Hurl Your Cookies, The Sequel," right there on my couch.  That would have been fun.  He said:  "I knew it smelled a little growthy in the tent when I woke up in the morning...but you know, there were six guys sleeping in there."

And there you have it:  Exhibit C of why I'm not sad that I couldn't go.
But, I wasn't sad to have them come back home to me, either...

They had a blast.
They ate tons of fun food.
They caught tons of trouties and salmon.

They tubed down the river.
They built fires.
They made their own schedules.
They never changed their undies.
And they came home filthy, stinky, and filled right up to the tippy top brim with HAPPY.

This.  I Love....