and I feel cheesy so my blogging goal this week is to write every day and have each title alliterate with the day of the week. It's like day of the week underwear. In blogging.
In the last 24 hours we made the decision after invitation to have the boys (all three) attend an extremely unpolitically correct Shooting Camp. Of course, here in the Southland, shooting camp is just another rite of passage.
Lest the pc'ers and I don't mean the computer types, fall upon me and Husband for such pro-NRA tactics, let me 'splain. Shooting Camp is not all about shooting. Though ammo is discharged through metal tubular instruments with triggers and hits targets.
Shooting Camp is also a men teaching boys to be men type of camp that teaches wilderness survival skills, campfire cooking, wearing the same clothes till they stand on their own, creek swimming, fishing, canoeing, air soft games, sleeping in a tent, and so on type of camp. The men who run the camp are a godly group of Dads that spend two nights and three days with their sons and the friends of their sons out in the woods. Scripture and worship time are also included. And prayer. Lots of prayer. Because did I mention there is shooting?
Anyhoo. We were thrilled to have the boys asked to participate, and they were a-quiver with excitement over not bathing for three days.
I took the opportunity this morning to accomplish a mania of errand running (printer ink, shoes for oldest son, bookstore, Old Navy--that last one just dragged me in--I promise) that in this heat just makes you manic. But I was done by noon so I could eat a bowl of healthy pasta, diced tomatoes and fresh green beans and watch a DVR'd chick pick with my feet up, the fan on, and silence in the rafters.
Three days. Well, two and a half now to get some girly things done. Hmm. Maybe another pedicure is in tomorrow's planner?
Gotta run. It's time to eat my hidden slice of Magic Pie.