So Matthew is off to camp. Camp is something ELSE the school cooked up just to torture me. Much like the whole "5th graders TOTALLY belong in Middle School with big giant huge children who look like they eat 5th graders for mid-morning snack!" they have helpfully decided that in 6th grade children should go away to camp - for three days.
They have done this for something like 25 years now and since all the natives are brainwashed into thinking about how much fun this is - we all have to agree.
Granted, I'm sure he is in good hands and all the older kids, former camp survivors, wax rhapsodic about the wonders of camp. The lakeside learning. The hands-on demonstrations. The time they took all the bunks and stacked them up out on the lawn ...
Even though Matthew has gone camping with the Scouts before, this is different. This is no-contact-camp. "Don't call us, we'll call you!" they said. And then you have to hope and pray they don't because they only call you for Bad News.
So I haven't heard from my firstborn since Wednesday a.m. when he tossed his bags into the back of the oldest equipment bus in creation (I think it was horse-drawn) and sauntered into the school. I know all the good moms wring their hands and say they are "worried sick" about their kids but the truth is, I'm not worried at all. He'll be fine. It's good for him. I bet he hardly even misses us because he's having too much fun.
Which is, after all, what being twelve is all about.
Tomorrow at 2 p.m. they deliver our children back to us. They say it's an educational experience. I think it's practice designed to wear us down for future spring breaks.
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