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.

Mommy Camp

Last week was my favorite week of the year -- sleep away camp!

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

I also attended one Stroll n Savor night, one book club, and one night visiting with friends from out-of-town. It was AWESOME!

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!)