It’s been a full week since we dropped Noah and Chase off at camp. We are not permitted to speak to them directly while they are there. The policy is a wise one. Can you imagine 400 phone calls each week from worried Jewish mothers to their children? Oy vey is right. But do not fear. We Jewish mothers are EXTREMELY resourceful when it comes to our worrying. We have our ways. Oh yes. We have our ways.
One of my ways is accessing the Bunk1.com service. Everyday the camp posts photos of various campers on this website. Approved family members may log in and see their little treasures in action. Some excerpts of my comments to Dave as we fight for space in front of the computer screen, trolling the site for glimpses of the brothers:
Do you ever notice that EVERY kid is smiling in these pictures? You know they aren’t going to post photos of the kids who are lying in the fetal position because they are so homesick, right? Do you think theses kids are being forced to smile against their will?
Oooh. There’s Noah! His eyes look swollen. Do you think he has been crying? His shirt is wet too! I bet those are tear stains!
There’s Chase at the pool! Wait, why does he have his bath towel and not his beach towel? Do you think he lost his beach towels already??
No pictures of the boys today, huh? Two words: Fetal Position.
The boys are required to write letters at least twice a week. Apparently they are not allowed into the mess hall to eat without a letter to home as their ticket. Noah has begun every letter with “Dear Parents”, as if he is the camp director. His second letter (above) included the following sentence: I am homesick (very).
Clearly this child does not understand the power of the pen. In absence of any specific information involving the nature of said homesickness, I tend to fill the vacuum with all kinds of thoughts, climbing the rungs of the anxiety ladder to the very top, waiting to jump the moment the next letter arrives. Of course the next letter says: I am not homesick anymore. I climb back down. Halfway.
As he is in life, Chase is stingy with his words. His letters are three sentences and all end with the direction to “tell the dog I say hi”. Which I do. And of course last week I sent him a letter from the dog.
As much as this summer is a huge growing opportunity for the boys, I think it is even a bigger one for me. I HAVE NO CONTROL. I HAVE NO CONTROL. HELLO, MY NAME IS EMILY AND I HAVE NO CONTROL.
However, I will regain my control when they arrive home in three weeks. Oh yes. I will.
