On S'mores and Summer Nights

The scents of bug spray and smoke are still keeping me company as I type, now two hours later. Even the bite of blueberry cobbler I just stole hasn't overpowered the bitter DEET taste on the tip of my tongue. And my hair. Lord have mercy, I smell like a chain smoker.

But these are the best kind of stinky smells.

Aunt Robin bought pink marshmallows and Uncle Stym built a cracklin' hot fire.

"Did you know the pink ones aren't really strawberry?" I heard Caed inform his cousin. "They are just white ones with food colorin' in it. My mom won't buy them cuz they taste the same as the white ones."

He added, "But I can't wait to try one of those pink ones YOUR mom bought!"
We worked hard at making this memory. We planned around the weather--multiple times. We went grocery shopping. We set up a tent, borrowed a fire pit. We salvaged wood and built a fire. We carried the chairs, rid the yard of dog doo, repelled the bugs, stoked the fire, roasted the marshmallows. All for the sake of s'mores and story time by the fire.

It was worth it.

But have you ever noticed how we describe the preparation and maintenance and clean up of the aftermath in terms of hours, while the eating of s'mores and exploring of rocky shores get assigned only moments?

It seems we have to work so hard for these sweet memorable moments. And in a flash they're over, and our hands are sticky, and we smell so bad that even the deer flies leave us alone.
But maybe that's part of what makes these moments so special. Because we work so hard for them. Because there are precious few of them. Because they run away so quickly, uncatchable, leaving us perpetually It, reminding us there are no tag backs.

Whatever the case, wouldn't you agree these sweet, fleeting moments we crown worthy of memory are so very worth the chase?

And of course this is linked to Emily's Tuesdays Unwrapped. Are you sensing a pattern? Yes, I pretty much do this EVERY week. But I can stop anytime I want, really, I can!

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