In the last day and a half, they have thrown themselves off diving boards, circled the campground on rocket-propelled bikes, and hurtled down 2000 feet of Alpine slide at Chestnut Mountain. They have bounced golf balls back and forth across miniature golf greens and fallen in miniature creeks retrieving them. They have invented stupid games involving glow-sticks and rejected the perfectly reasonable ones I showed them. Had we told them at the pool: "You must play in the wading pool and can't go in the big pool," they would have hollered bloody murder.
But they have slept well and eaten constantly. The goulash the first night was a huge hit. After a breakfast yesterday of pancakes, bacon, and eggs mid-morning, we let them go to the nearby Culver's for ice cream for lunch. It's okay; their parents can straighten them out when they get them back.
Some random thoughts about writing, camping, and eating.