Winding down

I'm picking my son up from camp tomorrow.

For four weeks he's been away from home, living in a small, dreary, wooden cabin with a half dozen or so boys his age, and two counselors. He's managed to eat, dress himself, brush his teeth (I hope), and get along without me. I'm pretty sure he's been successful, because as far as I can tell, he's happy.

I have three ways of ascertaining his state. For one thing, I received two letters over the past month. The full text of the first letter read: "Mommy, I'm having a great time". The second went as follows: "Dear Mom, Please send me a package of candy. Everyone else has gotten one." I'm sure if he was having a miserable time, he wouldn't have hesitated to tell me.

My second piece of evidence is the nightly posting of photos over the internet. When he wasn't ducking out of view of the camera, he was smiling from ear-to-ear.

It was a tremendous source of comfort to me, but made me think back to my old camping days. My parents also sent me off to camp for close to a month, but without the internet to monitor my every activity and mood. In a way, it was probably more nerve-wracking for my parents.

Then again, maybe not.

Back at the home front, the girls have been having a very different camping experience altogether. My diva, appropriately, is attending a theatre day camp at a park in our neighborhood. They are putting on a complete production at the end of the month based on a 1980 musical flop that destroyed the careers of several previously successful and promising actors. I am, of course, talking about the supremely gawdawful roller disco fiasco known as Xanadu. Olivia Newton John and Gene Kelly were never heard from again, and Michael Beck...exactly. I never heard of him either. How they're going to pull off transforming this abomination of a screenplay into something entertaining and appropriate for 7 to 12 year old performers is only one more of this summer's mysteries I have to ponder.

And while the older siblings are hard at work in the business of fun, the youngest is trying to figure out how such a promising sounding summer at "camp mommy" turned out to be such a dreadful disappointment. That's not to say it has been a complete failure, at least, not on the level of say, Xanadu, but I'm sure it could have been better. For the first month of the summer, I dutifully drove my girls to swimming lessons each and every day. They did head bobs, flutter kicks, teddy bear floats, and streamlines. So far, so good.

After dropping big sister off at camp, things kind of got less exciting for little sister. I met up with my best friend/coffee date/walking partner, strapped the little one in her stroller, and hit the pavement. From the beginning, the summer plan was to have all three kids in camp so I could meet up with my friend for some brisk walking and sugar-free iced coffee to whip ourselves back into shape. Unfortunately, my baby's summer camp didn't end up fitting into our budget, so we fell back on plan B: camp mommy.

We quickly discovered that my little one had low tolerance for sitting in a stroller watching the world whiz by, and even less for not being the center of the conversation. Walks devolved into an exhausting attempt to get our exercise and keep her engaged.

After a while, I spent fewer days walking with my friend and more taking my daughter on "adventures." Many of these adventures took place downtown in Millennium Park where a) I have free law student parking until the end of summer, and b) Target sponsors a giant tent of free activities for children each day.

We have enjoyed concerts, circus activities,

arts and crafts,

and, of course, splashing around in the Crown Fountain.

We've also had the pleasure of spending time with friends and family from our old hometown.

Some just came for a short visit, some have moved here for a longer duration and we have enjoyed helping them settle in and see the sights.


The highlight of the summer for all of us so far, and my third bit of evidence that my son is having a good summer, was visitor's day at his camp. We drove the four hours to middle-of-nowhere, Wisconsin, east of the Christmas Tree Farms, west of nothing, to a tiny enclave of Jewish Mayhem. The moment we drove up to the camp we were greeted by a tall, skinny, tan-as-a-brown-berry boy with a giant grin. He hopped into the car with a warm greeting: "Did you bring me candy?"

Of course, I had.

We were treated to a performance of camp songs and cheers, a meaty barbecue picnic,

and hours and hours waiting in the queue for the zip line. My son was anxious to demonstrate his favorite activity in camp.

After waiting in line for an hour, he scrambled up the rope ladder strapped in his harness, and waited some more for the ten second joyride down a 400 ft. wire.

Once he came down, he ran off to the restroom, and disappeared. My husband and I were stuck waiting in line with the little sisters who also wanted to prove their mettle on the zipline.

Big sister had something to prove. Two days earlier she had chickened out of jumping off the 3 ft. diving board at her last day of swimming lessons, only to be showed up by her baby sister, who leaped off with glee. Big sister had something to prove and that something was the gumption to jump off the 40 ft. platform. She wasn't going to be outdone by anyone.

Well, she scaled all the way up the rope ladder, past the 20 ft. platform, all the way to the top, They strapped her in, and after several harrowing moments of waiting, she took the plunge!

We couldn't have been prouder,

until baby sister demanded her chance at the zip line.

Unfortunately, the zip line was run by several young Israelis who had just completed their army duty, and basically scoffed in the face of danger. "Mamaleh," they reassured me, "she'll be fine!"

"Don't worry" they said, "She'll never be afraid of heights after this!" Reluctantly, and some may say stupidly, I agreed to let my teeny tiny four year old ride the zip line. 20 ft. only I insisted, much to her disappointment. So we waited for another hour for her turn.

In the meantime, big sister had a fit. "I'm bored!" She wailed. "I've spent the whole day in this line!" She howled. Daddy had no choice but to find something more exciting to do at the camp. We hadn't seen big brother in over an hour, what else was there to do? So, he took her for a boat ride, and little-bit and I waited and waited and waited.

Finally, they got the only harness small enough for her teeny tiny frame, and the Israeli soldier who seemed to know what was going on carefully and meticulously tightened each strap, making sure she was snuggly secured.

As he adjusted the straps, my little chatter box interrogated him. "Where are you from?" She asked.


"I'm from Israel." He responded in his thick accent. "From a city called Jerusalem. You've heard of it?" she nodded, silently. "You've been there before?" He asked.

"No." She shook her head. ""How old are you?" Her interview continued. I eavesdropped, melting as my little one carried on such a sweet and mature conversation in her teensy, high-pitched little baby voice.

Finally, she was ready to go. She looked adorable in her harness. So much so, that all of the Israelis asked me permission to take her picture. By now, the zip line queue had grown to a couple dozen campers and their families. The kids asked, "Is she really going up?" My little one puffed up to her full three feet height and said, "Yes! To the high one!" Mommy shook her head. No. 20 ft. is enough this year. You can do the 40 foot one next year. She didn't argue.

Finally, they attached her to the line and pulled her up to the platform. She desperately wanted to climb the rope ladder, but the space between the rungs was bigger than she!

She got to the platform and we waited anxiously, the crowd below cheered her on, calling out her name, giving her encouragement. I could have sworn the parents were looking at me with shock and derision, letting such a small child take such an unnecessary risk. The Israelis kept reassuring me, "Mamaleh, she'll be fine!"

Then she plunged.

It lasted fewer than 10 seconds. She spun around waiving at the cheering crowd behind her. I finished filming, and ran to the end where they brought her down. She grinned from ear to ear. My heart pounded in my chest.

But I sure was proud of all three of my fearless daredevils. And those Israelis were right. Everything was fine, Mamaleh.

We finally found our son, playing tennis with a buddy from Denver.

I got a quick tour of the camp, we bought the kids some ice cream, and we said our goodbyes.

The best part of visitor's day was the final moment when we were getting ready to pull out of our parking spot. That same tall, skinny, tan-as-a-brown-berry boy ran up to the car again to say goodbye.

I've really missed that kid.

Tomorrow he's coming home, and if my old camp experiences are any indication, I expect him to get home, eat supper, and sleep for two days straight.

Then when he wakes up, he'll join baby sister and me for some more camp mommy adventures.

And where is law school hubby while all of this camping is going on? Studying, studying, and studying some more for the Bar exam, which is only a week away.

It's hard to believe three years has already come and gone. In another week, he will no longer be a student, and I no longer will be the Law School Widow. This is most likely one of the last posts of my blog. I'll be winding down the blog as the summer drifts into autumn.

I'd like to hear from those of you who have taken this crazy ride along with me. Please drop me a comment, especially if you've been quietly sharing the experience. I'd like a chance to say goodbye and thanks to each and every one of you.