Camp Alaska

In case you've had the misfortune of following my insanity for the year or so that I've been torturing the world with my thoughts, you may recall the saga of Camp Alaska. For those who are not familiar, you need to know two things. I'm crazy and few things make me crazier than the perceived danger about to envelop my offspring.

The Boy Scouts are a hardy lot. If you are a Scout, you will learn how to rip up your underpants to make fire starter and you'll wander around in the woods for two days to learn orienteering. As a Scout, you also have the opportunity to scare your dear Mom into a deep psychosis by camping outside in Ohio in January with no tent. You get to make your own shelter and try to survive on your wits and beef jerky for 24 hours. And if you do all this? You get a shiny patch. Yep, a patch and the satisfaction that your parents are capable of worrying for 24 hours straight.

Last year, Peter froze his toes together and it was of course, my fault. It was below zero and I had armed both A&P with a mountain of hand warmers. Why, would your toes freeze together if you have plenty of handwarmers to stash in your socks, and mittens and pockets? Because they're HAND WARMERS, not FOOT WARMERS. It says so right on the package. And, had I listened to the child prior to sending him out into the freezing cold, I would have known this. Seriously, my parental license should be revoked.

We have two weeks to prepare for this year's installment of "Am I Really Dumb Enough to Leave my Children Out in the Cold with Nothing But Tarps and Beef Jerky?" Yes, yes, I am.

Last year, I did not sleep. I was frozen in my bed under layers of down and fleece. The heat was cranked up to 78 degrees and I was still frosted right down to my fritzel. Tim spent the night watching the weather station out in Grand Rapids like it was a Red Wings hockey game. Unfortunately the prize was a reading of minus 1 F.

All I have to say is Here We Go Again People. It's going to get kind of crazy around here for a while.