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Editor's Note
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 Each year, on the last day of school, I’d help my two sons usher in summer with a ceremonial trip to the barber for buzz cuts, followed by a stop at Baskin Robbins for ice cream cones. It was our way of toasting the season of bare feet, Popsicles and lazy days. The 10 weeks of unstructured time that stretched to the horizons of their minds was filled with endless PlayStation games, basketball and swimming. What they didn’t know was that during our annual ritual, as my sons were on the boat to Pinocchio’s Pleasure Island, I was charting a course to make it a productive summer. I was determined to keep their minds sharp and their hands busy. We’d read, go on field trips and do art projects. Every week would have a theme. Welcome to Camp Mom. With the enthusiasm of a newly minted YMCA counselor, I had a full itinerary planned. First stop was always the library. Since the setting was reminiscent of the classrooms they’d recently fled, they were less than enthused about the pencils and bookmarks they could win in the summer reading program.  They used the first two pencils they’d earned to swordfight with each other. They never qualified for the bookmarks.After numerous visits to museums and art galleries, my boys would chant from the backseat, “Mom, can’t we just go home?” Sibling rivalry became the sport of summer, and I was the referee. One day, after coming home from the bakery with two special dinosaur cookies that I had carefully selected (it was dinosaur week at Camp Mom), I was horrified to find that one of the cookies had broken. To avoid another “fight,” I did what any mom at the end of her rope would do: I broke the other cookie and poured the milk. By the time the dog days of August had arrived, I’d be spent. Replacing the book titles that had been recorded on the 100 lines of their summer reading charts were the repeated promise of “I will not hit my brother.” By summer’s end, the Discovery Channel was replaced with the Cartoon Channel, and it no longer concerned me. Sidewalk chalk was our only art endeavor. Like a kid counts the days until Christmas, I was marking the days until school started. While they filled their backpacks with new markers and notebooks, my mind would fill with visions of unhurried mochas at Starbucks. When the first day of school would arrive, we’d all be excited, though clearly for different reasons. They’d tumble out of the car, thrilled about the promise a new school year brings. I was ready for the quiet home a new school year guarantees. “Have a great day,” I’d wave good-bye. “Learn something new.” Pulling out of the school parking lot, the backseat was empty for the first time in two months. As predictable as our ritual of haircuts and ice cream on the last day of school, so, too, was the lump in my throat as I realized once again how much I was going to miss them. |
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RSS SubscribeReaders Feedback:
Hi Kimberly,
I loved your piece, "Camp Mom." It really made me laugh because you captured the reality & charm of summer so perfectly. Best, Vicky
| Comment at 7/20/2009 |
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