WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 09, 2009
I’ve blogged about this trip before, but in case you are new, let me sum up. Every year, I take my lovely G.S. troop camping over Labor Day weekend at the local G.S. camp. We’ve been doing this (sadistically) for six years.
Okay, back to the story…
This year we took a younger troop with us and they occupied the lodge while we took over the platform tents in the next site over. So I figured, Hell, this will be easy since the girls are in sixth grade now, right? Why, they will want to do all the cooking and cleaning, singing scout songs all the way…right?
Sixth Grade should be known as the Age of the Zombie Drama Queens. For example, seating arrangements just to get out there are extremely important. You don’t want to sit, for the next 25 minutes, by just anybody.
Then there’s the music. I thought the Jonas Bros. were pretty cool…I have them on my iPod to play for the girls in the car. I was wrong. Apparently the Jonas Bros. have a cool factor of zip with my girls. One of them made a playlist. It included every Taylor Swift song known to mankind. I tried not to suicidally steer my van into a big rig the whole way there. I’m like, totally serious.
Upon arrival, the girls decided they didn’t want to schlep all the stuff they brought the 200 feet to their tents. Actually, I was surprised that most of the girls needed two suitcases. How long were we going to be here again? I looked at my one backpack and duffel and wondered.
Once we told them that if they didn’t pick up their luggage and take it to their tents, the centipedes would lay eggs in their undies, they snatched the stuff up, rolling their eyes as they rolled their suitcases. Rolling suitcases? For camping?
On the bright side, the girls had already picked their tentmates, so that was a huge leap over two hour group freak-out with tears we had last year.
Once I got myself unpacked in the “Leader Tent” or as they called it “Geekville,” I checked out what they were doing. I was shocked to find posters on the outside of the tents, posters inside the tents, and one enterprising Scout brought a lovely basket of potpourri. I didn’t say anything…hoping an enterprising raccoon would do the talking for me later.
Potpourri. I know, right?
The evening went by without a hitch until after dinner and s’mores (the girls would make one for themselves, 32 for me). That’s when one of them, trumpeted by heralds, informed us that she had broken her thumb. Of course, her parents had decided at the last minute to run off to Florida, leaving no one behind to deal with this, even though it’s our one, hard and fast rule.
So, at 9:30 at night, one of my leaders decided to drive the girl to the Emergency Room and stay home that night. She looked really sad about it, but I suspected that leader was trying hard not to do backflips all the way to her van.
Once that was all done, I headed back toward our site, thinking of the accident report form I would have to fill out on this. Girl Scouts are all about the paperwork.
That’s when one of the fifth grade girls stopped me.
“I just got my period for the first time.” She said.
Well I didn’t see that coming. My other co-leader and I kind of looked at each other blankly. Wow. I hadn’t thought of that. These girls still strike me as little girls. We had nothing for this.
I took the girl down to the other campsite, praying silently that the leader of the younger troop, a troop to young to have this kind of thing happen, would have something. The gods were looking out for me. She did.
I stumbled awkwardly through an explanation to the girl but she just blinked. “My mom told me all about that stuff. I’m cool. I’m just worried about how she will handle it.”
Did I mention the girl is 10?
Okay then, back to the campsite, where I was greeted by two other girls who informed me that “Broken Thumb’s” (that would be her Navajo name if she had one) BFF was sobbing in her cabin. Great.
Upon arrival into the Potpourri tent, I found two girls laying on their bunks wailing as if I’d killed and eaten a puppy in front of them.
“I have nothing to say to you!” Said the BFF. “You wouldn’t let me go to the Emergency room with my best friend! She needs me!”
“Yeah!” Sobbed girl number 2.
Two others from another tent were on hand to offer support. They nodded.
“I could just DIE! And you wouldn’t care!” Cried the BFF.
“Well,” I said. “You might as well die, then. I already have two accident reports to fill out. What’s one more?”
The girls laughed at this. Talk about Mood Swings. I told them the two from the other cabin could sleep there that night.
That turned out to be a big mistake. I’d inadvertently put the two biggest troublemakers in the same tent.
No one slept that night. And I mean no one.
The “problem tent” partied all night, despite my repeated threats of dismemberment and duct tape. When I got up that morning. On the walk between my tent and the bathrooms – about 3 yards – every other girl managed to come up to me to complain.
So I killed them.
No, I didn’t. But as a group we did come up with a suitable punishment. I won’t give you the details but it involved the offenders being strapped to a target while the completely exhausted other girls fired arrows at them.
Wait, that was my fantasy. Scratch that.
Broken Thumb joined us later. She didn’t have a broken thumb, just a contusion that became a “broken thumb” under article 357 of the Dramatic Diva guide.
By the end of the trip I was feeling very old. I also downloaded “Queen Bees and Wannabees” to my Kindle. I’d better get a jump on this diva thing.
The Assassin