Dropped Mark off for sleep-away camp yesterday. He'd already completed a summer's worth of day camps, where he spent his time playing sports, and crafting art projects like the one to the left. ("I made you a shot glass!" he told me proudly, as I marveled over its gritty, crumbling clay-ness. I don't know where he came up with that idea--I've never done any shots in front of him, let alone the 3- to 4-ounce shots the clay "shot glass" obviously held. Quite frankly, I'd have been less surprised if he'd sculpted me a beer bottle instead.)
But it was time for his summer highlight--sleep-away camp! We flew up to Northern Cali, where the camp is, and where my brother Tim and his family live. Mark was so excited--not only was he going to camp (read: escaping Mommy and all the terrible chores she imposes on him) for a week, but he also got to see his cousins.
My last Mommy task for the week was convincing Mark to finish his lunch before he got on the bus. "I bolused you for all of it," I warned him, which is thinly-veiled code for "I gave you the insulin, you must eat the corresponding carbs OR ELSE." (If you think it's hard to get your kids to eat, try feeding a kid with diabetes AFTER you've already given him his insulin!)
And so it went for 15 minutes. He finally finished, though he dragged out every last mouthful and spilled some of the milk. Whatever. I figure he got most of the carbs in him.
There was still a good half hour to kill before the bus departed, and watching Mark not eat his lunch made us all hungry. We were standing in front of Tim/Kim's favorite restaurant, facing the parking lot and buses.
But it was time for his summer highlight--sleep-away camp! We flew up to Northern Cali, where the camp is, and where my brother Tim and his family live. Mark was so excited--not only was he going to camp (read: escaping Mommy and all the terrible chores she imposes on him) for a week, but he also got to see his cousins.
My last Mommy task for the week was convincing Mark to finish his lunch before he got on the bus. "I bolused you for all of it," I warned him, which is thinly-veiled code for "I gave you the insulin, you must eat the corresponding carbs OR ELSE." (If you think it's hard to get your kids to eat, try feeding a kid with diabetes AFTER you've already given him his insulin!)
And so it went for 15 minutes. He finally finished, though he dragged out every last mouthful and spilled some of the milk. Whatever. I figure he got most of the carbs in him.
There was still a good half hour to kill before the bus departed, and watching Mark not eat his lunch made us all hungry. We were standing in front of Tim/Kim's favorite restaurant, facing the parking lot and buses.
We grabbed a table in the patio and I went inside with Kim. ("Don't let that bus outta your sight!" I told Tim. "Run after it if you have to!" And he realized then that NOTHING must get between me and my child-free week.)
As soon as we ordered up lunch, the counselors yelled, "Load 'em up!" and started putting kids on the buses. I grabbed Mark up and out of his seat--I looked like that family crossing sign on the freeway, where the mom is running and pulling her kid through the air.
I got to the edge of the restaurant before I realized he hadn't said goodbye to anyone. "Um, go back and hug your cousins good-bye," I told him, and of course, he walked back in slooooooow motion. (A little too slow for a someone who couldn't wait to leave, I thought.)
We headed to the bus, where he pushed his way into line, and turned to me. I thought he was going to hug me, or say goodbye, but instead, in his lowest I-mean-business voice, he whispered fiercely, "You can GO now."
I was being dismissed? Here? Like that?
"I love you, too, honey!" I said loudly, and enveloped him in my arms. He struggled to free himself, protesting the whole time, "I'm serious! Go! GOODBYE!"
I hugged him again, a real one this time, and kissed his squirming head. "I can't just leave you here in the parking lot," I said. "I've gotta make sure you get on the bus."
And get on he did--he pushed his way to the front, and disappeared onto the bus. My nephew Nicholas had joined us by then, and we searched the rows for Mark, for one last wave goodbye. But Mark had parked himself in a row on the opposite side of the bus, and was hiding far below the window sightline.
"Well, I guess that's that," I said to Nick, and he nodded. We pushed through the crowd of crying parents and the kids waving furiously at them from the bus. Meanwhile, my son was still hunkered down on the bus, hiding from us. I heard a loud rumble as we walked away. I'm pretty sure it was the bus engines starting up, but I won't rule out the possibility that it was Mark sighing with relief that I was finally gone.
We headed to the bus, where he pushed his way into line, and turned to me. I thought he was going to hug me, or say goodbye, but instead, in his lowest I-mean-business voice, he whispered fiercely, "You can GO now."
I was being dismissed? Here? Like that?
"I love you, too, honey!" I said loudly, and enveloped him in my arms. He struggled to free himself, protesting the whole time, "I'm serious! Go! GOODBYE!"
I hugged him again, a real one this time, and kissed his squirming head. "I can't just leave you here in the parking lot," I said. "I've gotta make sure you get on the bus."
And get on he did--he pushed his way to the front, and disappeared onto the bus. My nephew Nicholas had joined us by then, and we searched the rows for Mark, for one last wave goodbye. But Mark had parked himself in a row on the opposite side of the bus, and was hiding far below the window sightline.
"Well, I guess that's that," I said to Nick, and he nodded. We pushed through the crowd of crying parents and the kids waving furiously at them from the bus. Meanwhile, my son was still hunkered down on the bus, hiding from us. I heard a loud rumble as we walked away. I'm pretty sure it was the bus engines starting up, but I won't rule out the possibility that it was Mark sighing with relief that I was finally gone.
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