June 03, 2002 - 6:32 p.m.

This weekend, myself, Mary, and Zoe went camping at Falls Lake with the teachers and families of the students at Mary's school. All in all, there were about 16 families there, each with at least one preschooler. Keep the preschoolers in mind. It will be important later.

So, everyone had their tents set up and we had a grand day of swimming, playing games, and the like, when another parent drove up to warn us that a huge honking thunderstorm with golf-ball-sized hail and 50 mph winds was about to hit our little campsite. So, what did we do? Did we pack up and run?

Nope, we went down to the lake, ate baby carrots and dry cereal, drank wine (the adults only, of course), and watched the storm approach, wash over us, and leave. It was immensely cool.

After the storm, we went back up to the campsite where we feasted on hot dogs and s'mores. Afterwards, we all retired to our respective tents to sleep.

Or, that was the plan. Zoe slept. And, that was about all the sleeping that was done that night. You see, all those other tents had at least one preschooler resident. Remember the preschoolers? You should, because I told you to. Anyway, apparently, none of those preschoolers slept that night. And so, neither did their parents. As for me, I couldn't sleep because sometime around midnight, my tummy decided to inform me that something was, to paraphrase the bard, a bit unkosher in ol' Denmark. I spent the whole night in the campground's bathroom seeing if I could, in fact, vomit up my spleen.

Anyway, the next morning, we were, as you can probably imagine, all sunshine and happiness. Most of the parents swore they would never camp with their children again, and I vowed to eat no food off of a stick for at least a couple of days.

Popsicles, of course, don't count.

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