What's in a name?

Well, hello bloggy friends! I bet y'all missed me. Well, I'm back and I'm prepared to share with you the reasons I've been so scarce lately. I am sure that you are aware that we are in the midst of a holiday weekend. It is the most sacred holiday weekend in the Lastname family. Because for the Lastname family, Labor Day weekend means SQUIRREL HUNT!



Oh, yes, my friends, we went hunting for squirrels this weekend.



Hunting.



For.



Squirrels.



I know what you are thinking. Yes, we (meaning the boys) really do hunt for and shoot squirrels. And yes, when a squirrel is killed, we (meaning the boys) cook it over an open campfire, and we (meaning the boys) eat it.



Yes, I know that episodes of the Beverly Hillbillies are running through your mind.



Let me make it very clear to you right now, I do not eat squirrels. In fact, lest you think that I married a family full of dippin', spittin', cussin', whip you where you stand women, I've never seen any of the girls eat squirrel. It's totally a guy thing. So I'm told.



The Lastname family is full of kind, caring, genteel ladies who would bake you a cake from scratch if she heard your family was bereaved, even in the smallest way.



So, to get past the whole "squirrel hunting" image, when I talk to people not related to the Lastnames, I usually just refer to this holiday weekend as a "camping trip". Because, truly, that is just what it is for me. Since I do not hunt squirrels, I just camp.



So, Friday morning, we loaded the van with every possible thing we might need to survive 3 days and 2 nights in the open air of the mountains. I opted out of calling Bubba's absence in to the office at school. I'm pretty sure "family camping trip" isn't on the list of excused absence reasons. Although, "squirrel hunt" seems so outrageous they just might let that one slip.

Honey really does love this trip. He loves being in the mountains. He grew up in the mountains and even now, he longs to escape to the hills when times are tough. He doesn't even have to shoot anything. He just loves being there. You can take the man out of the mountains, but you can't take the mountains out of the man.

He also loves spending time with family that we don't get to see often enough. It is hard for him to think of a year when we couldn't make it to Squirrel Hunt.

I, on the other hand, only take this trip with Honey because I love him so much. You see, I don't camp. I'm not very good at it. Camping goes against some of my most fundamental beliefs. I learned at a very early age that one should shower every day, potty on a toilet, and brush your teeth in a sink. I like to sleep in my bed and cook on a stove. I am also partial to my dishwasher. And knowing that when I go to sleep on my clean pillow, my hair doesn't smell like a campfire. You can take the girl out of the city, but you can't take the city out of the girl.

So, I know you'll understand when I say that we are spending quite a bit of time lately bathing, cleaning the dirt out from under our fingernails, and unpacking. We have been doing some stain removal and bleaching. . .and even some trashing. We are picking through the leftovers of our food deciding what stays and what goes. And we are cleaning the pine needles off of our rolls of toilet paper. The van will be detailed and the HappyMeal toys will be tossed in the toy box. But these are all signs of a successful camping trip. . .er. . .squirrel hunt. Or, so I'm told.