And then there were two

Tomorrow begins the time-honored tradition of the big bus send-off to sleep away camp.

There will be chaos, overstuffed soft-duffels, and lots of quivering chins. I’m willing to bet equally from the parents and the children.

The leap of faith it takes to send your child away for much of the summer to a new camp is akin to the leap of faith it takes to believe you can get away with Jeggings at 42 years old. (I cling to that belief, by the way).

There might as well be an oversized, old-fashioned school clock with a resonating ticker marking off every second left between now and standing in a parking lot with a hundred other families waving goodbye to their kids.

I know from last year that the moment of saying goodbye was followed by a solid 2-hours of sobbing and muttering over and over "What have I done?" as my husband drove us silently home. So why do it?

Many disapproving parents have written. I LOVE spending time with my child (translated=you must hate it). Yeah, I hate spending time with my kid. Loathe it. In fact the sole reason I gave birth to him was the giddy anticipation of how long it would before I could get him out of my face for as long as possible.

I just know summer camp was the highlight of my year. The friends I made during those 8 weeks became like sisters to me. The strongest memories of my childhood occurred 150 miles from home.

Last year’s camp experience was a mixed bag, he liked, but didn’t love the camp. (It was the camp I attended for 5 years so it never occurred to me that he wouldn’t). This year we have found a Performing Arts Camp. From the minute I saw the brochure and video I knew it was a perfect fit. Or what I hope will be a perfect fit.

Hoping. Leaps of Faith. Praying. Yes, it’s the religion of Sleep-Away Camp.

Now, the other thing, since he is my only child there is the simultaneous anxiety of if he’s enjoying himself combined with coming to grips with “Empty Nest Syndrome” years before he’s off to college. Let me give you the head's up. This two-fer sucks big time.

What’s a stay-at-home mom if she’s not momming?

"Live it up!"
"I’d give anything to have that time and freedom!" I hear you saying.
Well, thinking, it’d be weird if you were literally saying it out loud. And I will, it’ll take a few days and then I’ll find a groove.

But the final, and biggest change is that it will just be my husband and I for six weeks, which is totally great, but I’d be lying if I said it won’t be an adjustment as well. He still goes off to work and when he returns there are no “guess what happened at school today” stories to tell over dinner. The house feels like it has a little less oxygen and I’m no doubt a little harder to deal with when I hit my frequent potholes of depression.

So, right now there are waves of anxiety crashing upon the beaches of sadness. Dramatic. Yup. But I’ll keep you posted and let you know when the tides turn and I am feeling the relief of freedom from schedules and joy knowing he is enjoying his summer experience

My guess is you’ll be hearing from me a lot more often over the next 6 weeks—my apologies, or your welcome. ☺