The Truth About Camp Unspeakable

I meant to do this a lot sooner but if you know me, you know nothing gets done in a timely fashion around here. Nonetheless, I have finally put together some extremely scintillating thoughts and a deeply interesting critique of my experience at (insert giant corporation name here)’s Camp Baby.

Entitled I Went to Camp Baby and All I Got was a Lousy Nintendo DS Lite, you can read it here if you are so inclined. Or not.

In other news, though it’s not 100% complete, you can see that I’ve given ye olde blog a makeover that was looong overdue. As you can also see, I likes me some red. Oh and I’m finally on the Twitter. You may now exhale :)

More later after I put my kids to bed and drink a toast or ten to the the END OF SPRING BREAK.

The Age of Unreason

Well, I’m back after a brief trip to Camp Unspeakable. I cannot, however, tell you specifically where I was or what I was doing because the first rule of Camp Unspeakable is that we don’t talk about Camp Unspeakable.

So, you are please to be missing me, no?

I missed you, too.

Not to prattle on incessantly about that which cannot be spoken (hello ad network agreements) but I really did have a great time there. Uh uh…don’t even ask. What happens at Camp Unspeakable STAYS at Camp Unspeakable.

Suffice it to say that spending time eating, eating, oh, and eating (they fed us well) and attending a jam-packed day of weird (feed your kids Splenda!), wild (rBGH is perfectly fine!), wacky (1,4 Dioxane is harmless!) and somewhat frightening (Uterine prolapse can be fixed!) corporate edumacation with a few of mah favoritest bloggy betches was just what I needed.

Unfortunately, it’s just like when I used to go to camp every summer as a kid and then come home all deflated because what could possibly top four weeks of playing spin the bottle and slow dancing to Freebird every Friday night? Ummmmm. Nothing?

So I’m home and it seems more…noisy and chaotic. But otherwise, it’s just the same as I left it except my mostly occasionally angelic kids are now behaving like obnoxious, whiny and inexplicably loud crack monkeys. Because? It’s spring break, of course.

Did I ever mention that I loathe spring break only slightly less than having my eyeballs penetrated by an army of flying salad forks. Well, I do.

And my son, almost three, recently entered the “age of unreason”. You know, it’s the age where rational thinking and rational behavior are NONEXISTENT? The age where tantrums are thrown over Every. Little. Thing?

But since I’ve been home, he’s taken things to a whole new level. Now, when he hears something he doesn’t like, instead of just throwing himself to the floor in a kicking, screaming heap, he’s added LOTS of high-pitched whiny, squealy, screamy, brain-bleed inducing howls of protest to his repertoire. DONOTLIKE.

And the banging. What is it with little boys banging on everything?

ARRRGGGHHHH

On the upside… The devil pills? I don’t seem to need them anymore. Well, for now anyway, although I may take them anyway if this new behavior doesn’t cease and desist soon.

A peek inside the imagination of a mom on the verge:

“Here,” said Betty as she handed Joan the little brown bottle labeled Devil Pills. “I call them my Mother’s Helpers and they’re simply marvelous! Just take one whenever you feel anxious. I’ve got to run now and put a roast in the oven. Jim’s boss is coming for dinner tonight. Cocktails around three?”

“See you then. Don’t forget that gelatin salad recipe!” Joan called after her, wondering when the man would arrive to fix the Frigidaire — the thought of cocktails without ice made her shudder.

Heh. I know just how she feels.

•••

Congratulations for making it to the end. Your reward? Photos from Camp Unspeakable here and here. Try to curb your enthusiasm :)