Dog Days

Last week we went to Family Camp. As mentioned in a previous post about Winter Family Camp, I have teased Peter for years about his participation in this corny institution. I have heard stories about talent shows and basket weaving and songs around the campfire and rarely envied him for these simple, shamefully innocent experiences. Where is the edge? The tension? The excitement? After all these years, his Family Camp peers organized a rennaisance. For the second year in a row they were returning to camp with their own children, and we elected to join them, upon the generous invitation of Antonia, who paid for us to participate. Now that I am a mother of two and have long since given up any ambitions of edge or tension, I looked forward to a week of no dishes or cooking and time with friends. I expected that it would be nice and fun and relaxing. But on the contrary, it was AWESOME. While the rest of New England melted in 90 degree heat and 90% humidity, we spend the week by and in the lake and on the broad shady porch of the lodge. I was there only three days (and back sweating in my classroom for the other four), but in that time I made a hay wreath, sailed, swam, learned to play the ukelele, sang old and new songs, made fimo beads, made pretzels, made many new friends. Conversations, conversations, conversations. The kids were in heaven. The highlight was perhaps their performance debut in the Talent Show (Jasper played C is for Cookie on his ukelele, and Josie danced to I Won't Grow Up). The best part of Family Camp, however, may be the fleet of energetic, enthusiastic, intelligent 20-something counselors who love kids and are there to adore and entertain your children. It was like having a dozen qualified babysitters at my beck and call all day long without having to pay each of them 7 dollars and hour. Parenting is so much easier then there are three adults for every child. Perhaps we have begun a (re)new tradition.