The weekend before last I camped with my daughter's Brownie troop. I was one of two moms to "rough it" overnight with four giggling third graders. Half of the troop couldn't make it, mainly due to illness (H1N1 has made a home here in Georgia). So, it was a fairly easy gig due to the small group.
We were competing in an "Iron Chef" challenge. Each troop was given a secret ingredient and was to make a dinner to share with the other troops. Our ingredient was chicken. We planned to make chicken pot pie. The other mom, Bridget, had brought portable propane Webber grills to make the dinner on. Neither one of us had used them before. I have a Coleman stove that we use when we camp, so at least I was familiar with using propane.
The first problem was that she had brought the wrong sized propane. The Webber grill used the long, skinny cannister, and we had the short, fat one. We finally decided that shouldn't make much difference, and we used the short cannisters.
When it was time to start dinner, Bridget had to go home to check on her daughters who were sick (how great of her to follow through with her committment even after her own Brownie got sick!). Sandy came to help me with dinner. We read the directions for lighting the grill, which indicated we needed to take the lid off first. We dutifully complied, and I put my hand on the handle as shown. I pushed the ignition button. BLAM! Flames shot out the side of the grill onto my arm and toward the tent (er, sleeping shelter). I FELT the flames hit my skin and scorch off my arm hair. Fortunately, the contact was so brief, I didn't get burned. Just hair removal. I could smell the burnt hair too. In reality, the biggest problem this presented was that I now had one hairy arm and one smooth arm. At the time, however, we all stood around with our mouths open and took two steps back from the grill. I shut it off immediately.
After the shock wore off, we pondered our second problem. The "explosion" could have been caused by the wrong sized container of propane. It also could have been caused by the pans that were on top of the grill (the directions had said remove the lid; maybe these pans acted like a lid). The problem is that we didn't know which caused the arm scorch, and we were afraid to try again. Why don't direcitons tell WHY we aren't supposed to do things! Wouldn't it have been nice if Webber had said, "if you have a lid or pan on top of the grill during ignition, your face might melt off" or "if you use the wrong size of propane you could end up needing to buy a new tent while firefighters calm your hyperventilating Brownie troop."
Thankfully, I brought my trusty Coleman stove and we used that. However, we didn't have enough time to do the pot pie due to our pyrotechnic show and its ensuing confusion . We ended up making a casserole. It was still yummy, but it didn't win the competition. That honor went to "Natural Gas Chili" made by a troop who may have sucked up a little too much by giving their dish its own theme song (you might imagine some of the lyrics).
After we prepared and eaten our casserole, I found out some distasteful news. As per competition rules, the girls had to do most of the cooking and prep work. The girls took turns chopping the chicken, but one girl did the most chopping. This girl had arrived a little late to the campsite, because she needed to get cleaned up after swimming in the lake (or so I thought). It turns out she needed to change clothes and get cleaned up after having a bout of diarrhea. She was chopping the chicken! The chicken we fed to everyone there! I don't think anyone would disagree with me if I say that a third grader, who has just changed her clothes due to a fecal mishap, should not be chopping chicken.
Despite these minor blunders , I am glad I went with my daughter. She was on cloud nine when she found out I was one of the camping moms. She kept bragging to her brothers that she and mommy were going camping without them. "Without them" is probably what she relished most. Steve and I have realized over the course of parenthood so far, that our kids need to encounter occasions of "only childness." Luckily for us, it happens naturally due to the different activities our kids are involved in. So, if I ever have another opportunity to provide my child with a stint of "only childness" such as camping alone with mom, "on my honor" I will try to capture it, chicken shit and free arm hair removal withstanding.
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