Son Number 2 returned from his summer camp adventure this morning, slightly burned, somewhat itchy, and grinning from ear to ear. Details of the week are sparse. I’m sure there’s more information coming from Guantanamo detainees than he’s going to provide. But there were mentions of shaving cream wars and the construction of a giant mud slide on a hill which they body surfed down – which makes me glad his mom is stuck with his laundry. He was a “senior” this year (albeit, a junior senior apparently), and I guess there are advantages to being the BMOC. Seniors get their own campfire party at which they perform skits. It sounds a bit like an episode of Who’s Line for pre-teens, which is right up my budding actor’s alley. There was also a mention of a barn dance, but the details on that are sketchy.

By far the most disturbing thing I heard was the lunchtime verbal competition the two boys were having today over the “exotic” cuisine they tried at their respective camps. We’re not talking chilled monkey brains here or even borscht. They were standing up chicken tenders dipped in mayo against cheese fries. I really have to get these guys out more often.

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