Mother of a Campgoer

I just returned from dropping Mason off for his first day of Summer Camp. It’s only a 5 day, 9-3 kind of thing but it feels huge! Standing there watching him walk down the hill to place his back pack that’s almost as big as he is by the tree, I felt proud and sad and nervous all at the same time.

It’s funny. He was there with his friend Zoe and they reminded me of little fish being acclimated into a tank. Checking it out, participating just a little, finding the hand of the friendliest counselor there to hold and not let go of, for anything. Then, after a bit, running around and smiling and being part of the group.

I wanted to run down that hill and introduce myself to each counselor. They look all of 14 years old for goodness sake! Tell them my name, show them Mason, tell them to take special care of him. Ask them for their names, phone numbers, social security numbers and addresses! But, I was supposed to be as brave as I’m asking Mason to be. Telling him to just go and have a good time with a big group of people he’s never met. To remember to not lose his goggles, the name of the new school he’s going to, that there’s a change of clothes if he needs them, all with his name marked inside, to eat all of his lunch and not drown in the pool! He’s just supposed to go and do that…and I’m supposed to let him go.

My goodness this job of parenting is becoming more difficult the older they get. I thought spit-up and projectile poops were bad. Now we have Miles going through the “Terrible Two’s” but I can pick him up, throw him over my shoulder and hold him until he calms down. He’s always with me, at my side. It’s not that way with Mason anymore.

So, I’ll take a deep breath, like I told Mason to do, and enjoy the day knowing that he’s having fun and meeting new friends and growing up.

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