Camp Is Hard Work

You think getting a child ready for camp is hard work? Try two. Last year, we sent Doodle, at age eight, to overnight camp for five days, an experiment to see if he liked it (Doodle not being the most outdoorsy kid in the world). He loved it, and asked if he could go back the next summer for a full, two week session. Naturally, Scooby chimed in that she wanted to go to overnight camp, too. I, foolishly promised that I’d think about it.

I’ll think about it in August eventually morphed into, Yes, of course you can go to overnight camp this summer by March. And so, I resigned myself that both kids would go away for at least a week in 2011. Imagine my surprise (and chagrin) when I learned that camps generally have a minimum age of eight years old. Scooby would have to wait another year. I braced myself for the Howl of Injustice.

At the last moment, however, Rev came to the rescue, finding a camp (run by a charity) just a few miles south of us, a five-day session that seemed a perfect introduction for seven-year old Scooby. I scheduled both children to be away for the same week, with Doodle taking a second week at his camp. I filled out the mind-numbingly repetitive paperwork, copied health forms, and calendared the due dates.

Now, I’m a good packer. I can throw together a weekend’s or week’s worth of clothing for myself on a moment’s notice, and I rarely need more than one bag. How hard could packing up a kid for camp be?

Good grief, people. Six loads of laundry later, I had chased down every single pair of underwear and socks, every wearable t-shirt and pair of shorts. I haunted dollar and discount stores for water bottles and laundry bags, hunted down fleece sweatshirts and sweatpants (in the middle of July!) just in case the temperature dared dip out of the eighties. And then I labeled each and every article with Sharpied initials, and stuffed them into their respective duffel bags. I packed and unpacked and re-packed until I was fairly satisfied that they would be able to find everything they needed with reasonable ease. They wouldn’t have me to lay out their clothes each morning.

The kids were beside themselves with excitement and anticipation. They talked about overnight camp all the time. Last night, they whispered late into the night, giggling about the cool things they would do while they were away. This morning, Scooby and I left church early to make the half-hour drive to her camp, with her chattering all the way. Seconds after we pulled up to the gate, Scooby leaped out of the car and made impatient faces at me through the window as I powered down the GPS.

But her demeanor took an abrupt, one-hundred eighty-degree turn as we ventured into the main hall of the camp. The rest of the campers, who had arrived by bus just ahead of us, were seated and having lunch quietly and calmly. Suddenly, Scooby didn’t want to stay. Tears welled up as she clung to my waist. This isn’t how I thought it would be, she whispered urgently. I want to go back home.

Perhaps if hadn’t put so much time, energy, and effort into accumulating and organizing all that stuff over the past couple of weeks, I might have been more sympathetic. Or maybe I was thinking about the fact that, if she didn’t stay, I’d have to find someplace else for her to be this week. Or maybe I knew, from long experience, that shortly after I left, Scooby would be making friends like she always does, happily putting on her life jacket to go on a cruise of the harbor, and having the time of her life. I hugged her, promised to bring her a big, red, swirly lollipop when I picked her up at the bus stop on Friday, and told her I loved her. Then I smiled and walked out the door. When I peeked back, she wasn’t crying anymore.

Occasionally over the next couple of days, she’ll get homesick. She may get teary. But she’ll get over it, and come back on Friday a little more independent than she’d been when I saw her last.

Tomorrow, I’ll kiss Doodle and give him a great big hug and send him off to his own two-week adventure. He’s already looking forward to archery and swimming and camping out in the woods.

Rev and Boy and I will move in our separate, slightly intersecting orbits this week. Rev’s got work and school; Boy has school and basketball; and I have work and, well, everything else. We’re planning on going to see Cowboys and Aliens one night; I can’t remember the last time we did something just the three of us. But for the next five days, at least, there will be pieces of my heart floating around out there, learning how to live independently of me, their mom, and, God willing, enjoying the heck out of the process.

And that’s a good thing, right? Right?

Yeah, this whole camp thing is hard, hard work.