"S'mores for breakfast, boysies!" I hollered from the picnic table about our last campsite of the trek. Silence descended and sticks stopped flying across the site. What did you say, Mommy?!? both boys gaped. Actually, I think all three of my boys just stared at me.
But after 10 days of cooking in the wild, and on the verge of heading home, I was done. Done, done, done, done, done. Done cooking on one burner. Done smelling like a campfire. Just plain done. And since we had skipped s'mores the night before, everything was ready to go.
Jake did suggest that we hike up to pick fresh blackberries and stick them in there. That was slightly redeeming, nutritionally speaking. So, I strapped on running shoes and off we went.
Yes.
"You have chocolate?"
Yes.
"Dark?"
Of course.
"Annnnd you didn't get those whole wheat graham crackers again, did you?"
No.
"You're really going to let them eat s'mores for breakfast?!"
Yes.
"Awesome."
I think I heard something about Berry Black S'mores and something about Darth Vader S'mores. But I don't believe it was every truly christened. What do you think it should be called?
Proof!
My mom-points were soaring that day. But, savory gal that I am, I just couldn't eat it myself. I tried a bite and let the sugar pigs duke it out for my share. I ate the blackberries by themselves...with a handful of baked chips and washed it all down with an espresso.
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