A Chevy Corsica, Tendonitis, and Mean Gene's Pizza are in the Pan

Day one was interesting to say the least. It started great with ample time to play and prepare at the hotel. Pizza Hut lunch buffet never tasted so good. The van ride to Parmelee was hilarious with a rousing game of "Who's in the Pan?" (see pic: Jake and I wanted to make sure everyone could hear us). Our time in Parmelee began spectacularly. We had a lot of fun playing stuck in the mud and kickball, hacky sacks flew, girls painted fingernails, and oh yeah...tons of piggy back rides. Though it was tiring, it was good. We had an average program. I say average because it is pretty much par for the course to have kids climbing, yelling, and running around in a general destructive pattern while a "program" is happening in front of them. It was actually going pretty well.

Until a mud fight broke out. A palpable air of violence quickly came over the entire group as mud led to mud clods, which led to rocks, which led to bigger rocks. It was as if something triggered in their small bodies. Some evil secretion plunged into their veins. Their entire demeanor and appearance changed and contorted into something that wasn't quite human, a predatorial fog thickened. Laughter turned to snarling. Smiling turned to empty glares.

As rocks, some nearly the size of a child's fist, buzzed past my head, I decided to take the troops and run. Covered in mud, bruised and battered, we were literally driven out of town... by children. With voices of reassurance that we would return falling on doubtful ears, we ran.

I'm not ashamed, I had to do what I had to do for the safety of my kids. This day will remain in my memory for a long time. For a while, I may only remember the sounds of stones, but in time I hope to remember one of the funniest games of "Who's in the Pan?" that I've ever played. I hope to remember Molly, Sami, and Jake. I hope to remember our relentlessly loving kids. I hope to remember the good.