In just a few weeks, both of my kids will be going to sleep away camp for the first time. They’ll be gone for 14 days, which will be the longest we’ve ever been separated. I’m a little nervous about the whole thing, like most parents, but what makes me even more special is that I’m also a paranoid freak with an excellent imagination*. (*PFWEI) To me, a bump in the night is never just a bump in the night. It’s the weird guy from the grocery store, who followed me home and hid in my garage until I finally went to sleep, rifling through my costume jewelry drawer, trying on my Merona earrings and licking my beads with his gross methy meth tongue.
These dinner plate-sized dark circles are not without their reasons, people.
But the boys haven’t even started packing yet and already my mind is filled with serious concerns like: What if they swallow a brain-eating amoeba in the lake? What if there’s an “incident” at the archery range? What if one of their bunkmates smells like patchouli? And, most important, what if I get collared for sneaking around the cabins in my night vision goggles and the arresting officer doesn’t believe that I’m just there to make sure they’ve flossed? Who’s going to bail me out then? My husband? He’d leave me in the hole for a few days just so he wouldn’t have to listen to me blasting Luther Vandross’ Greatest Hits for once. Plus, he’d be happy I was finally doing some weight lifting in the yard.
Of course, I’m trying to keep in mind the reasons we’re sending the boys to camp in the first place. The independence, the autonomy, the joy of sleeping in a non-air conditioned cabin in Texas in July. Not to mention the life-long memories they’ll make during their two weeks. I only went to camp—YMCA Camp Cormorant in Minnesota—for two summers and I still remember most of what happened there.
For example, how could I forget that I told the counselors that I had my period, so I couldn’t participate in my cabin’s synchronized swimming version of “Grease”? In truth, I didn’t have my period. I just thought it was beneath my artistic standards to do multiple leg kicks to “Greased Lightening” in a lake while wearing a swimsuit and a leather jacket while also being attacked by mosquitoes the size of 747s. Alas, my entire plan backfired when I was regulated to running the boombox during the performance and almost got electrocuted when Jennifer S./Rizzo tripped during her solo and splashed water on the extension cord I was holding. Then she hated me the rest of the week because everyone called her “Schizzo.” (Note to self: Tell boys to stay away from all camp boomboxes and clod footed divas named Jennifer.)
I also haven’t forgotten how one summer, every girl in my cabin at Camp Cormorant had a huge crush on a certain teenage counselor. I don’t remember his name, but he had a blonde afro, wore roller skates and did an awesome routine to the “Off The Wall” album on camp dance night. He was like the Norwegian Michael Jackson. “I’m bad, I’m bad, oh yah, you betcha, you know it!” I like to think that he grew up and became a Broadway dancer, but seeing as how it was backwoods Minnesota, he’s probably selling used Kias to people with bad credit now. Such a travesty. He was the hottest thing on wheels in 1980.
Now, were my parents fretting about everything I was doing those weeks at camp? Probably not. They knew I was in good hands and wasn’t a raging idiot who’d get stuck in a pine tree if left unsupervised. (Even if I did tell everyone involved with swim lessons that I had my period so I still, to this day, can’t get across the pool without a boat.) Besides, my parents were too busy watching “Magnum P.I.” and doing macrame projects on their floral velvet couch to call the camp director and ask if I was eating healthy and maximizing my personal development. And even if they had done that, the camp director would have said, “Yah yah, she just lost a molar in the Jolly Rancher eating contest she organized by the dock, so no worries here, don’t cha know! Yah, she’s a weird one!”
I really hope I can follow my parents’ lead when my boys leave in a few weeks. I’d love to just relax, unwind and know that they’re having the time of their lives at sleep away camp. Brain-eating amoebas, Jolly Ranchers, roller skates and all.
Find out the Summer Camps I Wish Existed over on AlphaMom.
I’m sure they’ll be fine and have a great time. But if you get a call from the camp saying they refuse to participate in a re=enactment of “Frozen” because they have their periods, I might be a little suspicious.
I did 4H camp for a week at age 10 (my cow milking is way too good to not be a sign of deep-seated mommy issues) and football camp at age 14 for a week (I never fumble but I have the knees of a 90-year-old).
They’ll be great. Use this time to work on your 12 oz curls and Barry Manilow appreciation.
I love the new blog look.
My girls just returned from 2 weeks at a similar Up Nord don’tchaknow YMCA camp in Minnesota – and yet they had no Grease experiences and stories to share. Probably because boomboxes are dead – but still. THANK GOD!
My girls went to camp across the lake from us. We kept a pair of binoculars on the deck and found reasons to drive the boat by their beach several times a day. Now they are in their 20s and I can’t believe that I can’t get them out of my living room.
He was like the Norwegian Michael Jackson. “I’m bad, I’m bad, oh yah, you betcha, you know it!”
You are my favorite, Weird Wendi Yankovik.
Great anxiety-ridden post Wendy. LOL. Reminds me of when my son first went for 2 weeks to sleepover camp at age 8, and I somehow failed to recognize him when he got off the bus. Yes, for real. Can an 8-year-old change this much in 2 weeks?? Somehow he did. Maybe it was the suntan or the fact that his hair had grown about a half a foot. More likely, though, it was the panache he had acquired, so when he swaggered out, I simply couldn’t find that sweet, innocent face that had nervously got onto the bus when he left.. All good, really. He got a lot from this experience. Hard as it was for us. No worries–your kids will have a blast. Enjoy the peacefulness. 🙂
Damn, I love your PFWEI brain. So so funny!
It’s not swallowing the brain-eating amoebas you need to be worried about.
Love the redesign!
Tried and tried to find you a recording of this song to listen to but the internet won’t give it up. Here at least are the lyrics to a song I think you will appreciate, King of the Rollerama: http://www.sing365.com/music/lyric.nsf/King-of-the-Rollerama-lyrics-Deirdre-Flint/4466317F76255F9648257BCA000D9BD8
My one tip: don’t bother packing more than one set of clothes. They won’t change the entire time they are there.
I can’t even pay attention to the words because the font is so freaking beautiful. Except for “methy meth tongue.” That is the new name for my band.
Hilarious! But seriously, one of my husband’s actual concerns is brain-eating amoebas and gives me a lecture every time I leave water for more than 2 hours in the kids’ water table.
I envy you your 14 days! They will have a blast (and you can work on your macrame!). xo
I am with you in spirit. My oldest is going to Boy Scout camp in Montana on Saturday for 8 days. My fears are:
– he will come down with the stomach flu both of his younger brothers have just had
– he will fail to wipe his butt properly and will smell of poop for an entire week, and gross out every other person at camp
– he will fall off a mountain
– he will get eaten by a bear
– he will get trampled by an elk
– he will fail to shower
– he will fail to brush his teeth (I don’t even know why I worry about this–it’s just going to be what happens)
– he will miss me
– I will miss him and I will cry
(The last two are pretty much inevitable, I’m afraid.)
I operate on the “out of sight, out of mind” principle. After all, why spend the money on sleepaway camp if you can’t enjoy it?
I’ll bail you out!
It’s reason like this that i love you… “It’s the weird guy from the grocery store, who followed me home and hid in my garage until I finally went to sleep, rifling through my costume jewelry drawer, trying on my Merona earrings and licking my beads with his gross methy meth tongue.”
I worry about the same thing.
If you do get arrested, I am happy to send my husband to your house. He fancies himself the white Luther Vandross. He can keep the greatest hits rolling along in your absence.
Let me know where to address the prison correspondence if the bail fund doesn’t come together.
Oh — the new site is SO PRETTY! I love it.
Also: The Norwegian Michael Jackson. That is so awesomely Lutheran. [lutheran high-five]
I’m sure they’ll have fun! And how exciting, that independence.
Good luck!
My daughter is leaving August 3rd. This is not her first time at sleepaway camp, but it will be her longest. Also last year she was at a horse ranch camp so no lake swimming (minus the brain eating amounts) So that is my main concern. …sending her with her mask and there is a pool sooooo told her to take advantage of that as much as possible.
Don’t feel guilty or anything, but the fact that you hadn’t changed your blog format over the past couple of years made me feel better about my total inability to update mine.
Damn.
This looks so so SO good. I mean, not Norwegian Michael Jackson good, but still.
You are such a PYT in your picture up top.
AND you wear Merona earrings.
Either I’m really jealous, or I’m about to start my period.
Or both.
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