Camp Life

This is the first year that Bode stayed at camp more then 15 minutes. He actually stayed the entire week and claimed he only "lay awake cold and missing my Mom" one night. I consider this a huge success. 

Last year, after 15 minutes of him latched onto my leg, I called my parents and begged them to rescue him (and me). It's amazing what one year in school has done for his maturity.

Mia claims she loves camp more than theater. That's a bold claim.

She's a lesson in contradictions. She's a true introvert who loves camp and theater. Go figure.

Andy actually taught a class for 4th and 5th graders this year. He also bolted out of there less than two seconds after his class was over every day. It was almost like he was in shape or something.

This sweet thing. What can you say to that?

It takes all the self control I can muster to keep from fixing my nine-year-olds hair at camp. I have to sit on my hands.

By the time she got home it was an oily, matted, chlorine-ridden, damaged mess. And I didn't say a word, not one single word. I happen to love the fact that she is not yet obsessed with her appearance. We have plenty of time for that. And besides, I have a six-year-old boy who's obsessed enough for the both of them.

 Bode got confused about his freezer bags labeled with clothes for each day. He ended up wearing the same short every day and sleeping in the clean ones. But I give him a solid A for effort.

Camp. Just one of the millions of things I swore I would never do as a parent and, like all childless proclamations, I ate my words.