It was really hot, and I felt like I was sweating from the time I woke up to the time I went to bed.
But! I was going to have s'mores after dinner! Anything can be endured with the promise of s'mores.
At 5:30 p.m., I gathered together all the supplies for our hot dog and s'mores cookout and we hauled everyone back down to the beach. Cubby and Charlie found sticks to carve with their knives to make the perfect marshmallow roasting implements. I bounced Jack around and found some smooth sticks for him to chew on. A. got the fire to the right state of embers for cooking. I held Jack up by the hands so he could practice standing. A. put the hot dogs on the cooking grate. I picked Jack up and walked around with him as he got increasingly irritable. S'mores were just around the corner . . .
And then Jack was done. Too fussy and tired to hang out on the beach anymore.
So I brought him up to the house to put him to bed, leaving A. in charge of the cookout. Jack went to sleep.
For thirty minutes. Curses.
When it was clear he was not going back to sleep anytime soon, I figured I might as well just bring him back to the beach. At least that way he'd have something to distract him from his unhappy, non-sleeping state and, most importantly, I could have my s'more.
But when I got down to the beach, I found that Cubby had eaten the entire chocolate bar. And there is no such thing as a s'more without the chocolate.
I was way more disappointed about this than I should have been. As evidenced by the fact that I just wrote a whole post about it.
But Cubby really, really loved his s'mores.
Edited to add: 10:45 this morning. Cubby and Charlie with A. on the beach. Jack asleep. I did this:
A microwave s'more. Not the same as real campfire s'mores, but I felt a certain vindication nonetheless.