Confessions of an Assistant Girl Scout Leader OR My Big, Fat Trip into the Potomac Woods OR Are There Bears Out There? Part I

Yes, I know.  Part I.  I have a lot of information to impart to the humor-deficit masses and only so much blog, so I'm breaking this bad boy down.  Of course, it's dependent on how sarcastic and ranty I can get, which make for a longer blog.  (Yes, ranty is probably a made up word but I don't care to look it up in my dictionary to find out.)

Okay, here goes.  There was...a camping trip.  With Girl Scouts.  In December.  In the wilds of Virginia.  (Would you believe the wilds of the nearest Girl Scout camp ground?  The wilds of the suburb?  About thirty miles away?)  We weren't really camping.  We had a building with electricity, heat, and water.  We had a grocery list.  We had a winery right down the road for the adults.  (Seriously, a half mile away.  Way to hook us up, Girl Scouts.)

Day One:

8:30 am.  We meet at Harris Teeter.  (Just an interjection but Harris Teeter sounds likes too much like Harris Tweeter and that sounds like someone who just tooted and I don't mean on a horn.  It does not sound like a grocery store and btw their prices are a little steep.  Recession, much?  Get a clue.  Change your name.  Or sue Twitter.  Something.  Add totter.  Yeah, that's it.)

Immediately all the grown-ups rushed in to get coffee.  The children screamed and shrieked in joy and tried to play chicken with cars in the parking lot.  (Hey, we had a first aid guy.)  The teens just kind of looked at us and said, "Whatever."

Eventually we got on the road.  I had a tall cup of french vanilla latte, a big ass load of firewood, a cooler with baloney and cheese sandwiches and a really effed up map.  I knew I was in trouble.  Plus Cressy, our only child, was in the back talking about how fun things were going to be.  Life was going to be way cool for this child.  She had a horror story picked out to tell.  (See Disembodied Hand for more information on that winner.)  She had her sleeping bag.  She had her stuffed penguin for protection.  Mommy was just a side note.  ("Convenient and nice to have in a clench but if we lose her, what the heck because I've got other GIRL SCOUTS!")

Off we went, braving Saturday morning traffic.  And everyone was out going someplace.  Eventually we turned off main roads and after a few miles I was on a single lane road, wondering if I had seriously effed up.  There was the sound of banjos and guitars in the air.  (My radio plays weird stations.  Honest.)

I stopped to look at my maps on my droid and see
if I could get a signal.  So I took a picture of the road
just to show people what I was talking about.  Do
you see anything?  Cause I didn't.  I was seriously
pondering stopping at someone's house but I was kind
of afraid to see who answered.

10 am.  And voila, around the corner was the camp.  Someone had mysteriously beaten me there and got the gates open.  Cressy was atwitter in the back.  (I must have a tweeting-teeter-twitting thing going on in my mind.  I'm broken.)

This was our designated shelter.  I think they stuck us in here because
they were afraid of what we might do.  But hey, it had heat and electricity and a
refrigerator.  Refrigerator good.

But I'm missing an opportunity.  Let me illustrate.

This is what I actually 'saw.'
I'm getting in a lot of trouble for this.

Then brownies descended in a drove.  (A drove is any number guaranteed to be annoying to me.)

See.  This is definitely a drove.  Plus two other parent escorts looking
grim in the background.

11 am.  We unloaded stuff.  I unloaded all of the wood while everyone was playing around.  (It's okay, I kind of threw it on the ground because I wasn't inclined to stack it neatly.)  I instructed our fire coaches (Not an official title but as men, they were the only ones qualified to build of the manly fire.  They were there to help out and teach us puny she-women...I have to stop ranting now.)  Let's just say these guys were in charge of teaching the senior scouts (4 teens) how to make a fire with flint.  (Later, I heard that fire starter and a lighter were actually required to accomplish the deed.  Nanner, nanner doo doo.)

My daughter admiring the manly he-fire.  (I brought
the fire starter and lighter and I don't get any credit.)

12 pm.  The demands began.  "We're hungry."  "We're starving to death."  "Feed us or anarchy now!"  (Well, the brownies didn't actually say the last part, but it was very close.)  We broke out the brown bag lunches and took the brownies on a nature hike.  We saw birds, rocks, trees, and possibly coyote tracks.  (Could have been an acorn rolling around in the mud, too.)  After the consuming of the food, which all the girls said was, "Good.  Grunt.  Need more baloney," and "No talking.  More eating," our erstwhile scout leader and volunteer mom (not me) taught the girls how to make a shelter.  A poncho, cord, and leaves were involved.  Much fun was had by all.

I said to smile and they grunted at me.  Baloney lunch residual aftereffect.
Also they were gathering leaves to shelter the poncho from the windy
side.

1 pm.  We tromped back to the cabin and all collapsed.  Upon looking at my watch I couldn't believe that it was only 1 pm.  I thought my droid was broken.  Alas it was not.

2 pm.  Other try-it badges were worked upon.  The girls had to seek out nature stuff and check it off, working in teams.  They found spider webs, tree leaves, bark, animal tracks, and other stuff.  Then they all snuck off to play with the seniors.  (The seniors were much cooler than the moms.  Plus they played soccer with them while I just let them throw rocks at trees.)

You can totally see the coolness emanating from the senior girls in this
picture.

But I did show them fungus on a nearby tree.  Also we took a picture for a flat Stanley request.

The Flat Stanley is the one on the right of the tree.

3 pm.  The moms hid inside while the fire-making dad lords kept girls occupied around the fire.  (Totally needed the break.  Plus apparently watching the fire was as fun as other stuff, too.)

For more titillating details on the camping trip of doom, check back.

Will the fire go out?

Will we make s'mores?

Will any one get a booboo?

Will a random bear come in and chow down on an unsuspecting camper?

Will I say the words, twitter, tweeter, or teeter again for continuity?

Will any of the adults make a run for the winery?

Part II to come soon.