I needed camp like an alcoholic needs a drink. My entire being was craving fresh air, sunshine, cold beer, campfires and freedom. Every winter I swear I go through withdrawals.
Camp was and always will be my version of a mini-vacation slash therapy. Ok, well I have a nice lady who is my therapist, but she can’t provide me with the sense of safety and security that camp does. What’s more, not only does it bear most of my childhood memories, camp is now playing an essential part in my kiddo’s childhood. Which, in some round-about way forces me to revisit all those “one time at camp” stories, reminding me of the me I used to be. Sigh.
Anyhoo, he’s still at that point in his short little four year old life where he’s just not sure of what he can do, what he’s aloud to do, what I tell him to do and what not to do and what I would practically kill him for if he tried (like walking out onto the barely-there-melting-ice on the lake). I really don’t want to be a “no” mom. I want to be able to say yes to anything and everything, but then what kind of person would he turn out to be if he always got what he wanted, like cupcakes for breakfast and cereal for dinner? (answer: very malnourished and overweight, albeit, a happy, person :) So although most of my time at camp is spent saying “no,” usually I’m able to squeeze in an hour, maybe two, of uninterrupted “me” time in which I get to zone out on a lawn chair, or –if the stars all align- take a nap. And all I can say is thank God for satellite TV out in the middle of nowhere, because at home we don’t have cable (I’d like to say that’s because I don’t want TV to rot my kids brain, but really I’m too cheep and cable is too damn expensive). At camp, however, we have about 200 channels of which at least 10 are just for kids, so he’s happy to veg out for a few hours and I’m happy to let him.