Fun With Wocks and Wogs

Note: I've tried to upload a photo to go with this post, but Blogger is playing silly with photos today for some reason. (A day later, the problem is fixed.)

I took my two boys to our first Fathers and Sons outing this weekend, to the glorious locale of Twin Bridges campground -- which are nice and all, but we've been there before. Still, seeing that Snake River surging past -- the campground is on an island in the river -- was a lot of fun.

The boys, I think, had a ball.

First of all, we cheated on dinner. Originally thought of doing the traditional tinfoil dinner, but decided I'd rather talk them in to going to Big Juds -- in the vicinity -- for dinner instead. Didn't have to do much coaxing.

So after a little spell of rock throwing, we went to dinner, then came back, made s'mores, got really sticky, then went into the tent to engage in that traditional camping activity of watching "Iron Giant" on the portable DVD player. Bliss. They watched an giggled, I dozed and read Tolkein's "The Two Towers," then we went to bed.

They had me up with the sun. No kidding, 5:30 AM, they were awake and demanding breakfast. Fortunately, at 6:30, the rest of the folks from the ward were awake too and we were cooking breakfast. I cooked the sausages, as exciting as that sounds. Only dropped one on the ground. I ate it. Then I ate the pancake that my five-year-old dropped on the ground. I've had my fair share of Scout pepper today, let me say. Then we cleaned up camp, spent about a half hour throwing rocks in the water, then we came home. A good day. Not too bad for a first Fathers and Sons outing.

Oh -- and the wocks and wogs? Well, as we were tossing our rocks, one of Isacc's buddies, Noah, came to join us. He really wanted me to throw a log into the water so they'd have something to aim at. But given he can't say his R's, it came out as "Thwow that wog in so we can thwow wocks at it." I chuckled about that all the way home.

As I recall, Dad only took us on one such outing, and about all I remember from it is that as we were getting out of the tent, Dad tripped and popped me on the lip, giving me a fat lip. Try as I can, I can't dredge up any other memories of the day. I can't even remember where we went. Dad said he did enough camping in the Dutch army in Indonesia in 1948 to get too much excited about camping afterward.