Something sticky this way comes.

Kids love s’mores. That is a universal truth. With the promised birth of Spring temperatures, we decided to rescue the fire pit from its seasonal grave, the garage. As my husband gathered wood for the pit, a bear pelt and club his only protection from the elements and our two domesticated indoor/outdoor cats, I went to secure the spoils from our local market. It was all very much like the gathering of nuts and berries.

I returned and like rabid dogs, the children descended. Already smelling of smoke. Faces lined with dirt and fingernails now in the category of digging yourself out of a shallow grave dirty.

“WHAT’S IN THE BAG? Is it…S’MORES?” *insert gargle of saliva and crazy eyes*

“Maybe. I mean, it could be. I honestly don’t know. We’ll see!” *runs inside to find a hockey mask and Barbie knee/elbow pads*

My husband didn’t have a s’more until adulthood. I’m not sure if I believe this, but, he does. He claims that his first s’more was consumed while working as a young adult counselor at summer camp. He doesn’t remember details, but, they found him later wrapped around a tree with marshmallow caked to his fingers and face. S’more overdose. It happens.

I’m a firm believer that childhood needs s’mores. As does adulthood and, I am sure that a valid argument for having more children is prolonged access and exposure to s’mores. I haven’t fully fleshed out this argument, but, it seems air tight.

So, we made FIRE. We secured fixings. Children were adequately foaming at the mouth. We made s’mores and s’mores and then, s'(ome)more.

It’s funny how something so simple sparks not only the beginning of a season, but, also serves as a marker of childhood and, of the much anticipated summer to come when sticky fingers become par for the course until late August. Around a small fire, a season magically appears in the not-so-distant horizon painted in marshmallow dreams.

The problem with s’mores is that they are the heroin of the dessert world. Once you start the s’more season, you must prepare for the junkie’s rationale. Lying. Cheating. Stealing. Carcasses of bags of marshmallows opened with their tiny teeth. Trails of graham cracker crumbs leading to an underground s’more den. Chocolate massacres. It’s ugly. It’s beautiful. It’s terrifying.

As we brought our small s’more savages back inside to strip them of their smoke-filled clothing while they gnashed their teeth and protested with beastly marshmallow muted growls, we looked knowingly at each other across the room with a look that said, “Hide the bag of shit before one of them chews our arms off in the middle of the night.”

Welcome, Spring. Welcome, s’more season. Welcome, new pantry locks.

How many children can we moderately safely place around a fire? There's only one way to find out.

How many children can we moderately safely place around a fire? There’s only one way to find out.





Comments

  1. Leighan says:

    I wish I could share the picture of my oldest’s first s’more experience. She got marshmallow in places I previously only thought accessible by sand from a day on the beach. I can’t wait to introduce the youngest to get first s’more this summer!

    • Oh.My.God! Now, that sounds like a good s’more story. *scoots chair up to you and puts chin in cupped hands. Stares.*

  2. I just had my first s’more (which my husband calls “sch’more” – it drives me nuts!) of the season last night. I honestly can’t remember when I last had one; but I think you’re right: they are heroin. I keep thinking of it wondering when I can score next.

    • You can score here out back near the charred remains. I know a guy. He’s got the good stuff. YEAH, NAME BRAND Marshmallows.

  3. We do smores more than just summer…we always have smore stuff. My kids love roasting the marshmellow and eating about half of their smore then they just want to make smores for other people. For the love of Christ, WHO is supposed to eat all these smores…..licking fingers…???
    Cute pic! <3 Devan

  4. We’re getting ready to do the same thing here at home!!! Personally I find S’mores disgusting, but my kids don’t!!!

    • Oh how I wish I find s’mores disgusting. The only thing that disgusts me is myself after I’ve had 15. OK, OK…20.

  5. Locks?!? Honey, you have to board that shit up. Two-by-fours and drywall screws are the reason we still have Peeps left.

    Unrelated: my baby is standing on my lap, jabbing a chubby finger at your blog background, yelling, “Stars! Geen! Boo! Ornange! Booooooooo!” So I’d call that an enthusiastic thumbs up on the design. Oops, now she’s playing with scissors – why am I still typing???

    • Your baby is now in a two-way tie with my dad as my biggest fan.

      Also, can I use a staple gun booby-trap to keep them out of the cupboards? Is that too lenient? It is. Back to the drawing board. *sigh*

  6. I leeeeerve S’mores. You hear me? Love them. If I ever make it to your neck of the woods, I’m bringing S’mores and wine. The end.

  7. Love this and can’t wait until it’s bonfire weather here. You are such a great writer, you know? You can write happy, sad, funny, everything. You’re good.

    • Thank you, but, you kind of have to say that because we’re married. I mean, if you didn’t support my writing, what would the blog-wife neighbors think?

  8. Do you have leftover Peeps lying around? Use one of those suckers instead of a marshmallow. Watch the children’s eyes light up with glee as they melt pastel-colored chicks, smush them between chocolate and graham crackers, and devour them.

    My kids also completely FREAK OUT about s’mores. They are most certainly crack for the little sugar addicts of my house.

  9. I had a crazy s’more addiction during my pregnancy with, um, let’s say the youngest. It makes sense as he’s the one most likely to secret a bag of marshmallows to his bedroom.

    You’re so right about s’mores. And so right about writing.

    • I have no pregnancy to blame my s’more addiction on. Unless we count the 15 month old who is trying to climb back into my uterus. So…yeah, yeah. Let’s use that.

  10. The heroin of the dessert world. FACT!! I’m jonesing just reading about them.
    BRING ON THE GOOD WEATHER!! Oh, I’m ready …so ready

    • After Tuesday’s epic Spring fake-out, I sit inside cursing the rain, gloom and banishment of the fire pit back to the garage. GrumbleMumbleProfanity

  11. Haha! This is brilliant! Would you believe I’ve never had a s’more either…? x

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