Technically, it's diabetes camp, but I like to emphasize the positive, which is that Mark gets to spend a week away at camp, roughing it, while I spend a week at home, doing the exact opposite. While my son enjoys the great outdoors, I enjoy a week of being child (and care) free. It's a win-win situation.
I drove Mark to the pickup spot, and waited patiently for the bus. (In 100 degree, humid weather, I might add.) Patience is the key word here, because Mark sorely tested every last ounce of mine during the 90 minutes of hell we spent waiting. All the other kids were clinging to their parents, and the parents were snapping pictures and dispensing last-minute advice and I love yous.
My sweet child spent the time making new friends, and tearing his name tag off. He wasn't brave enough to tear anyone else's name tags off, so he just scratched them out with a random Sharpie he'd brought. I put an end to that quickly.
"If you are trying to make me not miss you," I growled, "it's working."
Some very nice parents introduced themselves to me, and to Mark, who ignored them. They were fretting about their son's week away, which I don't understand. I wanted to say, "He's gonna have a GREAT time -- enjoy the time off!" But they were a little teary, and it seemed kind of callous.
Mark continued to sass me, and to ignore the grandma who pleaded with him to take a group shot with the other boys in his cabin. She looked at me, surprised (her grandson was an outgoing, polite young man). I shrugged apologetically and played the D card.
"He's really high right now, and pretty grumpy," I lied, straight to this poor woman's face. (I hadn't tested his blood sugar recently, but any good parent/grandparent knows high blood sugar turns their child into the devil.) It just seemed easier to blame his behavior on diabetes instead of brattiness, especially in an understanding crowd like this.
"Ahhh," she said knowingly, and promptly excused my very rude son for any and all bad behavior.
He finally climbed aboard the bus, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Until I saw him swinging back and forth across the seats, while all the other kids sat nicely. I motioned for him to sit down, and he stuck his tongue out at me.
He's not my responsibility now, I thought to myself, teeth gritted. I reassured myself that he behaves for everyone but me, and that he'd probably be really good at camp.
Needless, to say, I really enjoyed my week off after that!
Here are my numbers for the week:
- Times I ate dinner at happy hour: 3
- Movies attended: 2
- Times I ate movie popcorn for dinner: 1
- Times I cooked dinner: 0
- Nights I hung out with my friends: 6
- Nights I hung out on the couch watching T.V.: 0
Oh yeah, and Mark had a great time at camp, too! He came back exhausted, filthy, and smelly. ("I only took one shower all week!" he bragged.)
So, I am thankful for this yearly summer ritual, and to the wonderful people that put it on. I get time to recharge, a mom vacation, and Mark gets to spend a week having fun in a safe environment. What could be better than all that? (Maybe two weeks in Alaska!)
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