And so we're back from camping

The Diplomat and I have camped quite a few times back in our childless days. In fact, we'd like to think of ourselves as quite the campers, really! Before you conjure up some unreasonable picture of us in hiking gear, roasting fish we have just caught barehanded after trekking for 25 miles along perilous cliffs and sleeping in hanging tents off said cliffs, let me make something clear: our style of camping is shameful. We pack our car up to the brink with coolers full of meat and other exciting food, a $25, 2-person Walmart tent (it got traded for a $50, 4-person Target tent this year), a queen-size inflatable mattress, fluffy pillows, humongous sleeping bags, various libations and board games. Upon arrival in the quiet, serene beauty of our camp site, we back the car into the site and immediately take the contents of the car out until the site begins to look like the NYC studio apartment of a particularly hung-over 25-year old bachelor investment banker on a Sunday late morning. We spend the next 2 days sitting around in various positions around the camp site, poking the fire incessantly and ingesting impossible amounts of food and such libations, while playing intellectual games like Cranium all through the night. On Sunday morning, we swiftly pack the circus back into the tiny trunk of the car and drive off in clouds of dust back to the city, feeling rather re-energized and quite good about ourselves already.
This past weekend wasn't much different except for two things:
1) We were now bringing a very unsuspecting toddler to the scene and we were meeting with friends who have two twin boys about Son's age,
2) We got introduced to ticks. And not in a good way.

I had full intention of relaxing this weekend. I had even naively and somewhat sheepishly brought along a book "to read in the shade while resting" as I happily announced to the Diplomat while packing. I remember looking mournfully at the book all weekend as I dealt with Son while he, along with two other very active boys whom he befriended instantaneously:
--ran around digging up ants
--shoved his head into an old concrete water pipe shouting toddler obscenities inside
--rolled around the ground enjoying a nice dust bath
--screamed that he wants juice, chocolate milk, water, bread, cheese, horsey, poopy, his cars, his monkey and a myriad of other tangible and at times, intangible paraphernalia
--ate half of a watermelon and then spent the rest of the evening peeing the woods
--refused to take an afternoon nap, while I tried to have one to the tune of three toddlers crying loudly for 45 minutes
--demanded to poke around the fire
--ate pebbles
--refused to wear his shoes
--demanded to wear shoes
--hugged me with sticky watermelon fingers and ran them lovingly through my hair.

Still, we had a blast. And then our friends initiated us into the world of ticks. I'd rather have stayed ignorant. As I said, we have been camping in the woods for some years now and never really thought about them or even knew what they looked like. Until today when our friends took out a massive tick off the thigh of one of their sons and I almost fainted while watching them. Several hours and numerous paranoid body reviews later, I have successfully harvested three ticks off me and one off Son. To the Diplomat's horror, I have not been able to find any on him so far which leaves him morbidly convinced that he is a major tick carrier but that they are hiding in his hair only to re-appear when he is at least suspecting. He makes me check him for ticks on the hour. It is worse and far more repetitive than CNN newscasts on a breaking news day. We have for now vowed to never camp again.

In other, just as repetitive news, I took and passed this week my BEX exam in Bulgarian with 5/5 which apparently puts me at the level of an intelligent native speaker. Well, why, thank you!