My daughter is spending the summer at sleepaway camp. My older son is off on an adventure trek with the same organization and will be joining her at the camp’s summer home in August.
It is her fourth year at camp so we are no strangers to the drill.
As has been our history, there are predictably few letters home other than the one they are required to send on the first day at camp. Hi ____. I’m in bunk ___. My counselors’ names are…. you get the idea. It’s like receiving parental MadLibs from the writing challenged. The other letter I am sure to receive is the one immediately preceding visiting day. Mom, I need _______, _____ , followed by an emphatic BRING FOOD! Apparently by the time I receive this letter, my daughter has already used up her two-month supply of toiletries, worn out a duffle bag full of clothes and more importantly, hasn’t eaten anything for almost four weeks!
The first time my kids were away at camp was back in the day when my “good mother” crown sat only slightly askew on my head.
Before my husband and I set off for our first visiting day, I woke up in the wee hours of the morning to grill garlic chili rubbed steak, make pasta with cherry tomatoes and pesto, and bake chocolate chip brownies, all gluten free, of course. A taste of home sweet home. Surely my kids would be ecstatic with my culinary thoughtfulness and reward me with the maternal medal of wonderfulness.
Ha. The truth was humbling. My daughter’s face was crestfallen, my son was mortified. Everyone else’s bunk bed was piled high with mountains of food the “good moms” brought. Had I missed the memo? My learning curve was steep. Unbeknownst to me, starved as they were, visiting day was not meant to be a Martha Stewart moment. Apparently BRING FOOD was camp code for I need pounds of candy and junk food and I need it NOW. I could feel my crown slipping through my fingers.
These days, I am much wiser, my crown having fallen by the wayside years ago, my hopes for that maternal gold medal long extinguished.
Controlled chaos and candy rule this eagerly anticipated day. Inevitably, as soon as I get “The Letter”, my brain cells start racing. I serve my family healthy food all year long. It’s only a moment in an eight- week get away. The dentist fortified my kids’ teeth with magical fluoride shortly before they boarded the bus for camp. You get the picture.
The rationalizations start to settle in.
I feel like a lemming getting ready to jump off the proverbial cliff. There is no turning back. And so, with only a minor twinge of mom guilt, this year’s visiting day I rose to the occasion. I was armed with the requisite overflowing goody bags from Target. Consequences and cavities be damned.
As she always does, and hopefully always will, Abbey deliciously greeted us with a running leap right into our arms. Her mighty hug is both precious and priceless. Over the years, both time and age has changed some of our initial visiting day rituals. Abbey no longer feels the need to show us around or have us watch her participate in activities. Now the day starts with “this is my bunk and counselors’ time. Done, check. Then it’s “this is the jewelry and candles I made in the arts and craft shop”. Done, check. Before my husband and I can get out our next ooh and ah out on cue, my daughter announces she is starving. Clearly, we have a new routine. It is time for us to take her off campus and go into town to have lunch in a restaurant, a real lunch, in a real restaurant. I look at my Fitbit. It is 10:30a.m. As parents, John and I have learned our lesson well. Merrily, we roll along.
When did you realize that not all your good intentions were worthy of your good other crown? Share your ah-ha moments in the comments below. We have all been humbled at one point, some of us more often than not! Thanks, smiles.
Sign up to receive cooking tips, tricks and drool worthy recipes made with speed and ease.
Serve it up with kickass conversations with your kids. Repeat.
Leave A Comment