Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah

Today is a busy day around my household. It involves--unfortunately--the dreaded task of packing. I hate packing. It's tedious. Love to travel; hate to pack. A conundrum.

Today, however, I'm not packing me so much as I'm packing my 11 year old son Chase who is leaving tomorrow for...I can't even believe it...two weeks of camp. Two weeks. No communication except for the written letter--delivered by the USPS--actual print on paper, folded in an envelope, stamped and sent via pony express (practically! I just had a package I mailed three months ago get returned because the address was "insufficient." Three months it took to come back. Seriously?). Can you believe? How archaic, this letter writing, and yet, that's the only way I will hear from him. I've had to threaten an ice cream ban if I don't get at least three letters.

I do realize I voluntarily signed him up for this--nine months ago, I knew it'd be tough but now that it's here, I think I should contact the camp and advise them to question the sanity of the applicant. She might not have it all together. (A sentiment I find myself thinking more frequently these days in general!)

No trepidation for Chase though; he can't wait to get to camp. He went last year for a week, his first stayover camp. He absolutely loved it, coming home bubbling over about the things he'd done, and the things he had not done (like shower frequently). The taste of independence for him was heavenly--choose what you want to eat, when to bathe (or if to bathe), what to do each day. He's talked about it since the minute he came home. Not surprising. This place, called Camp Cosby, hasn't been around since 1922 without knowing how to show children the time of their lives. The camp is set on a huge parcel of wooded land in eastern Alabama alongside a lake. The kids stay in cabins with AC (it ain't that rustic), eat all three meals in the "mess hall," have nightly campfires and entertaining skits by counselors, sing big group funny songs and every day they choose any five activities they'd like to do out of the umpteen offered. And we're not talking drawing and storytime. We're talking outdoor adventure. He can wakeboard/waterski (which he loves doing), ride dirt bikes, ride the zip line, go horseback riding, shoot b-b guns, jump on this enormous inflatable, swim, try his hand at archery, and much more. What a kid's dream! And Chase even saved his money all year from holidays, birthday, goals scored to go for a second week this summer. I was proud of his accomplishment and dedication and he can't get there fast enough. But now that it's time to send him off, I'm wondering how I'll survive.

Here's one thing I do know: If I can get the old song "Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah" out of my head, the weeks will go much better.