There is just something about washing the campfire smell out of your hair and cleaning sand out of your jeans that makes me smile. Because while I am digging the sand out of my jeans, I remembers how it got there. Like jumping off the edge and landing in the sand. And riding the three wheeler with Kyle and legitimately feeling terrified it was going to tip over and sitting around the fire roasting mallows. Without fail I think of the Sandlot every time I make a smore. Oh, and the Capri Suns were delicious, and they reminded me of my childhood.
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