Boys weekend up north

As I'm writing this, my dear husband is enroute to "The Shack" with my sweet little baby boy. They're heading up north to spend the weekend with Uncle Brian, Great-Uncle Paul, and Grandpa's Cousin Ricky. Will is so excited for this "Gallagher Manhood Ritual", he's hardly been able to contain himself and I think he's aged at least 6 years in preparation.

Last night I heard Bill and Will discussing their plans. From what I overheard, this is what they'll be doing:

1. Walking in the woods in the mud
2. Driving by the neighboring lake
3. Looking for bugs in the woods
4. Looking at the tree where they dump the contents of the outhouse
5. Playing Monopoly and Chinese Checkers
6. Searching for bears
7. Watching flies get zapped
8. Shooting clay pigeons
9. Watching mice drown in a bucket of water
10. Eating lots of eggs

This morning Will packed his own backpack full of stuff suitable for a boys weekend: pocket knife, Dragon-Rider book, MP3 & headphones, air-pistol & target, GameBoy, and his cozy, cuddly airplane blanket. What more could a nine-year old want?

Well...maybe some Purell. After breakfast, Will thoughtfully asked:
"Do you have a sink and some soap up there?"
Bill's response: Nope. No running water.
"So...if we touch something's guts, we just have to eat without washing our hands?"

My sweet little germophobe. I hope he does OK.





As they left, I gave strict instructions to be careful, don't fall down the stairs, don't get lost in the woods, don't get shot, don't get in a car accident, and return with lots of pictures and detailed stories about everything you do.

And in response, Bill said to me (as he says to me every other time he goes up to that mouse-infested, stinky, falling-down, man-heaven shack), "What happens at 'The Shack', stays at 'The Shack'."

But as they turned to leave, my wink to Will was returned with a cute little one-dimpled smile.

I'm not worried. I'll get the whole scoop.