Last weekend we dropped Miss O off for a week at camp -- the same camp my brother and I went to as kids. The camp is almost exactly the same, except for the fact that the cabins now have screens on the windows and doors that close. After Skunkapalooza 1983 and InsectFest 1984, I do not begrudge today's campers the luxury of a mostly-sealed environment for sleeping.
But I digress. O lives for this week every summer -- a week of running feral, standing on the benches during dinner to sing, eating dessert first, and possibly never changing clothes.
This year she arrived early enough to score the coveted top bunk and happily installed herself and her stuffed hedgehog and her roll of tape (this becomes important later). We kissed her goodbye and went off for a week of single-kid parenting.
Or so we thought. Turns out that the kid fell after dinner the first night and broke her wrist. I blame karma, because right before it happened they were playing a break-the-ice game of "I never." "I never broke a bone," said Olivia.
Jinxed. Olivia learned a valuable life lesson that night: NEVER jinx yourself by saying something like "I was never struck by lightening" or "I never got eaten by a tiger at the zoo."
On the way out of camp, she was sobbing pitifully. "I didn't *sniff* *hiccup* even get *sob* to USE MY ROLL OF TAPE. I didn't have time *sniff* to get any emails or letters."
She left the ER with a blue cast and a note okaying her return to camp (oh, the relief at being able to use her tape!). A mere 5 hours later, John packed her, some trashbags and waterproof tape, and a handful of Sharpies into the car and drove her all the way back to camp at the crack of dawn.
I knew she'd have a hard time this last week -- she couldn't swim or play a lot of the games or go caving. But, being there in any capacity was better than not being there at all. She and her counselor had a lot of time to bond, and she somehow managed to eat Nerds Ropes and drink Orange Crush at the Hub with only one hand. Oh, the humanity.
When we got home, we realized that she could not get into her own bed. It's a top bunk with a straight vertical ladder (as opposed to the slanted steps in the camp cabin) and a high lip-- no way to climb in and out without using both arms. Her solution?
This is a relic from her toddlerhood - there was a time when that tent lived in our living room and contained actual strata from all the hoarding and squirreling away she did in there. I'm pretty sure that most of her possessions (and a full 25% of our household stuff, like silverware and towels) were buried in that tent by the time we took it down.
She has apparently not moved past that phase. All of the detritus you see here (hedgehog beanbag, books, flashlight, notepads, pillows, blankets, pajamas, iPod, etc.) was shoved in during the first 12 hours.
(Also, I suspect Bea has been visiting the tent when she should have been shua ya'ing. I was wondering where that stupid toothbrush went...)
This morning, Bea hopped out of bed, unzipped the tent, stuck her head in and yelled HELLOOOO. She then zipped it back up and spent the next several minutes hurling herself at the tent because that is all kinds of fun when you are three.
"Mom. I've solved that problem. I turned the tent around so the zipper part is against the wall. She can't unzip it and wake me up anymore." Hah. Good luck with that.