Mark loved his camp, too

I was not the only one worn out by camp--Mark returned quiet but happy from his own time away from home.

I was very excited to see him--he'd been away from home for two weeks before but this year, I really missed him. I was ready for the little guy to come home!

Despite his denials, I could tell Mark was equally excited to see me, as he waved briefly out the bus window. (Yes, it was a small wave, but he made eye contact, too! That is huge for my non-emotional child.)

The first words out of his mouth were, "Hi, Mom," and then "Can I go to camp for two weeks again next year?" Yes, the boy who'd been grousing about camp non-stop since I paid for it in March, wanted to get back on the bus and return to camp, right then and there.

Of course, I said yes. :-)

He shocked me again, asking if he could shower when he got home. My nose agreed right away, and my head screamed, "Hallelujah!"

Of course, I said yes.

I asked if he'd showered at all while he was gone--he'd said everyone had to shower on Thursdays, and he was gone for two Thursdays.

"No," he answered. "I didn't shower at all--I just washed from the waist up in the sink."

And all I could think about was how gross boys really are. And how, the next time Mark asks why I always say that, I will use this story as proof.

Even he could see that was bad, and amended it with, "Well, I mean, I wasn't totally dirty. I did go swimming a few times."

And hey, that's the same as bathing, right? I mean, you wear a bathing suit in the pool.

The cool thing about this year was that the camp has a Facebook page, and they posted camp photos. In previous years, I'd ask Mark what his favorite activities were, and he'd just shrug. And that was pretty much all I had to go on.

But this year, I could reference the pictures and ask him what they'd done. He told me all about the Halloween party where they carved up watermelons. 

He talked about his favorite activities, shooting BB guns and doing archery, he described the vampire comic strip his cabin all acted out in photos. I heard more about camp this year than I ever have before!

I did notice one curious picture, however--a photo of three baby ducks.

"What's the deal with the ducks?" I asked him. He just shrugged.

"Yeah, they have ducks," he said.

"What for?" I asked. "As pets?"

"Maybe to eat," he said. He saw the horrified look on my face, and pretended to chew.

"You know, like duck fries," he said, referring to a local restaurant's specialty dish.

"You're a sick puppy!" I told him, hugging him tight. "I've missed you!"

I asked about the dance, and he told me he was too busy playing pool to dance. I asked about camping out, and he admitted it was fun, albeit cold and a little scary because of the coyotes howling.

I asked if he saw any wildlife, and he said there were squirrels all around. He even hand-fed a chipmunk.

He totally dug his cabin mates, including one kid who's gone in years past and bugged him. I was proud of him, and his budding maturity.

Mark showed me his eye glasses, and how he'd broken the side of them. I was sooooooo glad he'd left his brand-new glasses at home.

"How'd they break?" I asked.

"Under a mattress," he explained. "You know, we were wrestling, and they got shoved under the mattress. Then everybody jumped on the mattress."

And I just smiled, knowing that was exactly what camp was supposed to be like.

Mark even got a new neckerchief. It said, "Ragger" on it, and Mark described the Ragger's creed. He couldn't exactly remember all of the words (any of the words!), but he remembered the main idea, which was to take care of your health. He's worn the neckerchief faithfully every day since he's returned from camp.

So all in all, Mark had a fabulous time. He keeps talking about camp, and sharing stories about his adventures. He's talked more about it than previous years, and I'm just so grateful. Grateful I can afford to send him, grateful for the amazing staff of counselors and medical staff to watch over him, grateful he gets to prove his independence and just be a kid away at camp. And, most of all, grateful he has a safe place at camp, the one camp where he's not the only kid with diabetes.

And so he can't wait for next year. He's even more excited because he turns 13 this year, and will move up to the teen camp (which totally freaks me out!!!). 

As for me...I just got him home. I can't even think of him being gone another two weeks yet. 

Camp Run-amok-a

Mark's favorite part of summer is going off to camp. He loves diabetes camp, because he doesn't have to bathe or make his bed all week. He also has easy access to diet sodas and a swimming pool, which he loves immensely (I swear, he's part fish).

I love diabetes camp because Mark goes off for a week like any other kid, and I don't worry about him at all (and coming just a few days after the scariest low he's ever had, that's saying a LOT). It's the one place I don't ever worry about him, because the staff includes doctors and nurses, and all the counselors have diabetes, too. I know he's well-cared for, and I am thankful he's in good hands.

So Mark was thrilled when a brochure for winter camp arrived in the mail. He was even more excited when a storm the weekend before dumped a ton of new snow on the ground.

I was less thrilled, because my sprouting son just outgrew both his snow boots and pants. (And I left them at my brother's cabin in Big Bear--otherwise, I would've crammed him into them, and told him to suck it up.) So off we went to buy him new pants and boots.

I would've settled for just snow boots...except there were none! Outside the window of the sporting goods stores, I could see snow-capped mountains. Inside, I was surrounded by flip-flops and bikinis. I really hate how stores sell clothing a full season ahead of time.

I finally found a store that not only had snow gear, but had it at a killer clearance price. I bought Mark snow boots and pants approximately two sizes too big, because if he outgrows it again before next fall, I'm going to be ticked!

Adding to the thrill of winter camp was that Mark also got to miss a day of school (this trip kept getting better!).

We met up at the bottom of the mountain with all his cabin mates, including their new mascot Rufus.



Rufus, a 7-month-old bulldog, was so ugly, he was adorable. He became a little less cute when he lifted his leg and tried to wet my shoes. His owner yanked him away just in time.

I was looking forward to a child-free weekend, and a wine-tasting trip with my friends. But the universe had other plans for us, though--all three of us got sick. Instead of traipsing the hills of Malibu with glasses of viognier, we all spent it locked in our homes, nursing colds and watching T.V. Sometimes life is just cruel.

Mark's weekend was much better. He arrived home a little miffed, because the counselors made all the kids shower before leaving. He was also a little mad about a couple camp activities--in one, they built a tower of marshmallows, and in another, they decorated cupcakes. And then they didn't get to eat either!

"What'd they do with the cupcakes?" I asked, confused.

"I dunno!" Mark shouted (he's very passionate about his sweets). "Probably threw 'em away!"

"That's just mean," I said. Kids with diabetes already have food issues--you can't give them sweets and not let them eat it. That's the whole reason for having insulin pumps! Bolus them for the food, or don't hand it out at all.

But Mark outsmarted them.

"I licked all the frosting off my cupcake, then frosted it again," he told me proudly.

"Did you bolus for the carbs?" I asked.

"I didn't have to," he said, still proud. "It was whipped cream frosting--there weren't even any carbs in it!"

I smiled. He's obviously been paying attention all these years, even when he pretends not to.

But Mark's anger was short-lived. He loved the snow, staying up late, and the sodas. He liked playing with Rufus, and staging snowball fights. He loved being independent, and eventually, after much prodding, he even admitted to missing his mom a little bit.

"I REALLY missed my cat, too!" the little stinker said. It's nice to rank right up there with the cat.

He even managed to bring all his clothes home (which doesn't always happen), including his new snow pants.

"Oh, but they're all wet," he warned me.

"How come?" I asked. I thought the point of snow pants was that they don't get wet and uncomfortable.

"They're a little big," he reminded me. "The snow went down my pants!"

And I decided that was just enough information for me. I hung the pants out to dry, and ended the conversation right there.

So even if he didn't get to eat the marshmallows or cupcakes, he still had a blast.

Wet pants and all...

Campfire confessional

I am currently re-training my hand to write the year 2011 on my checks, and I've pinned up my new wall calendar. The calendar which, incidentally, reminded me it's time to sign Mark up for diabetes camp.

It's weird to think about something six or seven months away, but space is limited and the camps fill up fast. So last night I went to the camp Web site and started completing the endless applications.

Mark was very excited--he loves sleep-away camp, and would spend his whole summer there if I could afford it. He was disappointed to see there were no consecutive week camps for his age group this year--last year, he went for two weeks, and it was the best fortnight of his life (mostly because he didn't ever change his clothes or make his bed).

He kept looking over my shoulder, and when I got to the section about money for the camp store, he started jumping around like an angry monkey.

"Thirty dollars!" he shouted as I moved the mouse toward the $25 button. "Come on, give me $30 for the store!"

"What do you buy at the store?" I asked.

"You know...diet sodas, Slim Jims, sunflower seeds," he answered.

"But you don't like Slim Jims," I said. I thought about it, then asked, "How much do sodas cost?"

"Like, 50 cents," he said.

"You're gonna buy 60 cans of soda in 6 days?" I asked. That seemed like a lot, even for a kid away at camp.

"No!" he sighed, like I am an idiot. "I only drink one or two a day. But I buy a bunch and use them for stuff with my friends."

That sounded...curious.

"What kind of stuff?"

"You know," he explained. "Challenges. Like, if they hop like a bunny for five minutes, or do 500 push-ups in a row, then I give them a soda."

"You're daring other kids to do stuff for SODAS?" I roared.

He realized it didn't sound good, and tried to back pedal.

"We all do it," he said. "Kids dare me to do stuff, too, and give me sodas."

I shook my head. "So basically," I said, "you're telling me you're all wasting our hard-earned money on stupid dares?"

"Yes!" he answered happily, relieved that I got it. I got it, all right, but I didn't like it.

"Hmmm," I said. I moused right past the $30 button, and past the $25 button I'd originally planned to check. Instead, I kept going until I found $15, and I clicked that one instead.

"What?" Mark screeched. "$15? That's NOTHING!"

"Well, then you'll just have to hop like a bunny," I told him. "Or do 500 push-ups."

Sometimes, it just doesn't pay to be honest.

Superhero camp

Mark begged me all last week to cut eye holes in a red bandanna he's been carrying around. He said he wanted to be the red Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, which confused me, because he's about seven years past their target audience.

Then, on Friday, he dressed in all red (including soccer socks pulled up over his knees). When I asked while he was so color-coordinated, he slipped on his mask and answered, "Ninja turtle."




None of this made any sense to me until we walked into camp. Suddenly, I was surrounded by superheroes of all sizes--Batman, Wolverine, Superman, even Super Kyle Man. (Mark's friend Kyle sported a huge duct tape K on his chest. I loved that!)

"What's going on?" I asked. I hadn't seen any fliers regarding costumes.

"It's Superhero day," Mark answered. Suddenly the Ninja Turtle costume made sense.

There were other celebrations and parting gifts, too. Mark received a spiffy photo book with photos from the entire summer.



In this picture, you'll notice the name "Jadyn" on the cover. That's because Mark lost his own book approximately two minutes after receiving it. I'm guessing it's keeping last year's lost book company.

There was also a potluck lunch. I wasn't planning to go until Mark said he'd be bummed if I didn't. Well, Mr. Independent never makes admissions such as that, and I'm Catholic by birth, so the guilt kicked in and I went.

I was pretty excited to watch the skits after lunch. I asked what skit Mark was performing, and he just shrugged. He told me he'd gone around to each group and couldn't decide which skit he liked best. Which cracked me up, because the groups are formed according to age. Which means Mark auditioned with all ages, from the kindergartners on up to the middle schoolers.

Unfortunately, I didn't get to see him perform with any of the groups. When skit time started, Mark was more interested in his cookie with M&Ms on top. I asked which group he was going up with, only to be told none.

"I don't want to be in a skit," he told me. The natural-born performer declined to perform.

At first I was a little bummed. I'd taken off time from work to eat dodgy potluck food and watch my kid act the fool. Apparently, it wasn't gonna happen.

And then I realized that instead of being bummed, I should be happy. I didn't have to stay and watch the skits!

I told Mark that I wasn't gonna stick around and watch a bunch of other people's kids perform. I was headed home, and offered to take him with me. He declined, and told me I wasn't to pick him up until 6.

"But you'll be the last kid here," I said.

"So? I want to stay and play with my friends!"

I agreed to the late pickup. And I cracked up when my cell phone rang at precisely 5:55, when I was one block away from camp.

"I'm the last kid here!" Mark wailed. Edra and Kathleen, who were in the car with me, laughed as hard as I did.

"I know," I answered. "You told me to pick you up at 6. So I am."

Mark didn't think it was nearly as funny as we did.

Summer vocation camp

Not sure what's going on at Mark's summer camp, but I'm a little worried... because I worry about any conversation that starts out this way.

"Hey, Mom," Mark said on the way home last night. "My friend Julian wanted me to wax his hair off."

"WHAT THE???" is what I wanted to yell, but instead, I thought silently, "Don't crash the car, don't crash the car."

"He did, huh? And did you?" I asked, praying this story did not involve duct tape.

"Yeah," he answered, nonchalantly. "I waxed his mustache, his arms, his legs and his hair. Oh, and his eyebrows."

I winced. "What kind of tape did you use?"

"Scotch tape," he answered.

And though I already knew the answer, I asked if it hurt.

"The eyebrows did," Mark said. "It pulled off like 10 eyebrow hairs! He said the other parts didn't hurt."

"Hmmm," I said, because I didn't know what else to say. "Did the hair come off his arms and legs?"

"A little bit," Mark said. "I put some more on him before I left, and said to leave it there for a couple days. Then we'll rip it off later."

"Wow," I said. I don't think this was one of the "choose your own" activities listed on the camp schedule.

I won't be surprised tomorrow if I get to meet Julian's mom. I'm guessing she might have a few things to say to me!

They never teach this kinda stuff on Supernanny...

Back on the job

Here's a sight I haven't seen in a couple weeks...the little man fast asleep in his own bed. I walked by his room tonight, and his night light was on for the first time in a fortnight. I found it strangely comforting. He was sound asleep, bathed in warm light, and just looked completely at peace.

He returned from camp today...and of course, he had a blast. He couldn't wait to tell me all the things he'd done--ride a pony named Peter Pan, swim in the whale-shaped pool, relax on the porch swing outside his cabin. He canoed across the lake, splashing "muck" all over the counselor whenever he paddled. He made a car in woodshop ("I burnt myself a couple times") and loved the snow cones ("They were carb-free--I ate three!"). His activities were timely (participating in the Silly Olympics) and goofy (he ate an entire spaghetti dinner without using his hands at all). He spent the car ride home singing about 15 new camp songs he'd learned.

But Mark didn't do all the activities--when I asked if he'd gone fishing, he scrunched up his face and told me, horrified, "No--the worms were ALIVE!" He couldn't believe the counselors wanted him to actually hook up a live worm as bait.

"Of course, they're alive," I told him. "That's what fish like to eat, live worms. What do you think, they're gonna eat frozen worms or something, just so you can bait the hooks a little easier?"

That made sense to him. "Frozen would be good--then they wouldn't be all gross."

I just shook my head. "Fine," I said. "Then you can have a frozen hamburger for lunch."

He even brought his own clothes home this time, and another new pair of black jeans.

And so now he's home for good. No more sleepaway camps, or even daycamps. I'm back to work as full-time mom, and it feels pretty good. I REALLY enjoyed my two child-free weeks, but I also missed my little guy. I feel refreshed, recharged, and ready for duty.

(Let's see how long that feeling lasts!)

He's off again

Sent Mark off to his second week of sleepaway camp. He spent a nice weekend with his cousins, slept in Monday morning, and enjoyed a leisurely morning playing with his cats and Matchbox cars. I forgot how easy life is when you're 8.

My morning was not as calm. I rushed around, rooting through his closet for old, expendable clothes that 1) still fit and 2) he would wear. This was not an easy task--he'd lost 90% of his expendable clothes at camp last week, and of the clothes he had left, he refused to wear the "teeny tiny" school shorts. I figured meeting both criteria was too difficult, so I just settled on clothes that fit. I partially solved the dilemma by transforming two pair of thrashed school pants into cutoffs. He loved them, and I bit my tongue to not point out the striking resemblance their length bore to my own cropped pants. I didn't say the words "male capri pants," but I certainly thought them.

While I loaded his luggage into the car, I asked him to take the garbage cans out to the street. This was met with immediate resistance, and a shocked, "Why do I have to do everything around here?" Then the mention of chores triggered another thought and he reminded me that I owed him allowance from last week.

"For what?" I asked. "You weren't even here!"

"So? I still get allowance."

Now this debate I had to hear. "Um, did you feed the cats last week?" I asked.

"No, but I made my bed every day!"

I shook my head. "Doesn't count. It's a sleeping bag--it was already made!"

He could've debated forever, so I shut him down with a quick, "No chores, no money" and finished packing the car. We were off to the hospital lobby to meet the bus.

However, the bus was not as anxious to meet us. In fact, it was nowhere in sight. I crammed into line to check Mark in. I passed off his pump supplies, checked in his luggage and got him a spiffy new name badge. He busied himself playing with the hospital house phone and the pay phone next to it.

The bus was to leave at 1, but 1 dragged on to 1:30, which dragged on to 2. Meanwhile, I argued with my squirrelly child to get off the grubby floor, to not touch the dirty trashcan, to stop trying to wedge his fingers into the elevator doors, and to PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE not crack his head open on the tiled floors 20 minutes before he left for camp. I finally relented on the last one, because he was intent on cracking it open, and I figured, well, we're already in the hospital, so if he's gonna crack his head open, at least he picked the right place to do it.

By the time he finally got on the bus, I was ready for him to go. I watched him climb aboard, waited around a couple minutes, and figured I was clear. They weren't gonna let him off the bus, so I headed to my car. I'd enjoyed having him back the past three days, and I'll miss him over the next few days. But right then my head was pounding, and I was irritated.

"Child-free again," I sighed, and that soothed my head a bit. I sure love my kid, and I wouldn't trade him for anything. But as I enjoyed the peace and quiet walking by myself to the car...well, let me just say, I finally understood why people send their kids away to boarding school!

At least there's no dirty laundry

Returned to Northern Cal this weekend to pick Mark up from camp. I thoroughly enjoyed my carefree, child-free week, but I also missed my little man a lot. It's been almost three years since I lived alone in the house, and it felt kinda strange to be home when he wasn't.

I certainly had a blast while he was gone. I saw two movies, went to one concert and one extended happy hour. I didn't cook once--turning on the coffee maker was the closest I got to actually using a kitchen appliance. I'm not proud of myself--I even dined on frozen yogurt and movie popcorn one night, just because I could.

I slept in late every day, because there was no one else to cajole awake or prepare meals for. It was just me--wake up, shower, out the door, arrive at work. No side trips to school or daycamp, just straight to work. It was pretty cool.

But like I said, I did miss my little guy, and I was anxious to see him again. He stepped off the bus looking sleepy and unfortunately dressed in a red t-shirt, green sweat pants, and shoes without shoelaces. A mesh laundry bag was slung over his shoulder, and his open shoes flapped as he walked--he looked like he was returning from a week in jail, not camp.

"Where are your shoelaces?" I asked him in the car.

"We had a treasure hunt," he said. "They needed shoelaces, so I gave them mine."

Kim and I congratulated him on being a team player, but when I asked what happened to them after that, he simply said, "I lost them." When we got home, Kim didn't even get out of the car--I unloaded his bags, and she drove off to get him new shoelaces.

Once inside, I kissed his head, and recoiled in horror. "Your scalp's bleeding!" I shouted, and dug through his hair to find where the red splotches ended. He shook me off, explaining it wasn't blood, just red dye left over from crazy hair day.

He ran off to play with Hannah and Nick. I dragged his duffel bag to the washing machine--I would wash his clothes, repack them, and be ready to go for the next camp Monday morning. I expected a new wardrobe, like last year, when Mark traded away all his clothes (that's what he told me, anyway). He made out pretty well--traded some old diabetes walk shirts for Pirates of the Caribbean shirts, and a very snazzy Beatles shirt.

What I wasn't expecting to see was a nearly-empty duffel bag. Where were the new clothes? Hell, where were the OLD clothes?

Mark said he'd lost them.

"What do you mean, you LOST them?" I sent SEVEN complete sets of clothes--shirts, shorts, underwear, socks, two pair of jeans. I fished around in the duffel--there were exactly three pair of jeans and one pair of shorts. That's it. I'd only packed clothes I didn't expect to ever see again, but I thought I'd see new clothes in their place. (He was very excited about a new pair of black jeans he'd acquired. "No one else claimed them, so I did," he said, proudly.)

Luckily, I'd planned ahead, and brought clean clothes for Sunday. (I figured his would be filthy--and I'm sure they are, wherever they may be.) I didn't bring pajamas, though, so he was thrilled to sleep in his clothes that night. Only 8-year-old boys are excited to sleep in the same dirty clothes they've worn all day (and probably most of the week).

That evening, Tim and Kim went to a party up the street. I stayed home with the kids, eating pizza and playing video games. Shortly after I put the kids to bed, Tim came home. He didn't like the drinks at the party, so he made his own and returned to the party. He came back 45 minutes later to refresh his drink, and take a bottle of tequila back to the party. He came another hour after that, this time bearing food and a good buzz.

"I brought you dessert!" he said a little too loudly, and held a plate out to me. He pointed at the little puff pastries and chocolates, then frowned, examining the plate closely. "Maybe it's not dessert--I thought these were little pastries, but it looks like there's corn on them. So maybe it's not dessert. But it's probably still good--just eat them first, and pretend like it's not dessert." He rambled on like a 15-year-old after his first beer.

He sat and talked to me for a good half-hour after that, and I told him he's the worst party guest ever, clearly one with A.D.D. "What do you do when you go to parties that aren't at the end of your block?" I asked. "Do you actually talk to other guests, instead of your sister?"

"I don't go to parties unless they're on my block," he said, and then he left. I wasn't worried--I knew he'd be back again soon. He returned shortly after midnight with Kim in tow. The dancing had started, and she didn't want to leave, but he'd made his last trip home for the night.

Needless to say, they slept in a little later this morning. We eventually packed up the car and headed to the beach. Even Mark, who splashed through the surf in a bathing suit he borrowed from Nicholas, because of course, his suit was lost somewhere between camp and who-knows-where...

What, no ashtray??

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.

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.