To answer your question, yes.

Yes, Mark had a fantastic time at camp. How do I know? Because:

• He returned from camp wearing an inner tube. (He wore it the whole bus ride home.)

• He was grimy. Like, seriously brown with dirt.

• He was tired. Fell asleep in the car (still wearing his inner tube).

• He was hungry. Although he did say the camp food was good, especially the snacks.

"What was the best snack?" I asked.

He immediately answered, "The ice cream sundaes. I had three."

"They let you eat three?" I gasped.

"Well, no," he admitted. "We all got one. Then, I turned my baseball cap around and went up for a second. Then I took my hat off completely and got a third sundae. It was awesome." He was so proud at his ninja disguise skills, which I'm sure fooled no one.

"And how was your blood sugar all week?" I asked.

"Well, it was 400 after those sundaes," he said, smiling sheepishly. "Totally worth it, though."

"Don't worry, I also drank a lot of milk at camp," he said. "Strawberry milk."

"They had strawberry milk at camp?" I asked.

"No, we added strawberry Crystal Light powder to the milk. It was AWESOME!"

I gagged a little bit at that.

Mark told me about the other activities--mountain biking (his group was the fastest), shooting pellet guns ("WANT. ONE. Pleeeeease, Mom?"), rappelling down rock cliffs ("No. Just no. I did NOT do that!") and even quiet time ("We couldn't even leave the cabin!"). He swam, and danced, carved watermelons, and even did a little shopping (he was super proud of his new basketball shorts that belonged to nobody. "I asked around," he said. "Nobody said those were their shorts." I sighed and explained again that this is called "stealing.")

But the easiest way to tell he had a good time? It was the second sentence he said, right after, "Hi Mom."

"Next year can I go for two weeks?" he asked, jumping up and down. "Please? PLEASE??"

And what other answer could there be that question except "Of course!"

Mommy Camp 2013

Mark went off to sleep away camp this week, and I enjoyed it every minute of it.

Day 1: The kid is gone. The sass is gone.

"You look so much calmer already," my sister-in-law observes. It's true, I feel like my blood pressure's dropped 50 points.

Day 2: I wake to an eerily quiet house, the silence finally broken by maniacal laughter. It takes me a full three minutes to realize it's coming from me.

"Time to get up!" I say, then I do. Nobody pulls the covers over their head or ignores me. I say what has to be done, and it. is. DONE. I could get used to this.

I shower, make breakfast and am sitting at my computer, working, 20 minutes later, without a single argument (I completely forgot that's how mornings can be).

With the kid around, this process takes a good hour and a half. I wonder what the heck he does with all that time each day.

Day 3: This morning, I walk into Mark's room, and in a stern voice, say "Make your bed." Nobody snarls back that "It DOESN'T MATTER." I look at the bed, which is already made, and walk away. If anyone saw the weirdly contented smile on my face, they might wonder about my sanity.

Day 4: I do miss Mark, but the cats miss him more. Each day, they pounce on him, smacking him around, nagging for food. I sleep with my door closed, so now they've taken up residence just outside, waiting for me to emerge. When I do, they scramble down the hall furiously, tripping me or steering me into the kitchen toward their dishes.

Fernando misses Mark the most. I act as a substitute play mate, but he's almost angry when I play--he just bites my arm and runs away. Fernando is not happy that I'm here and Mark's not.

Day 5: I'm tired, but it's a different kind of tired. Usually, by Thursday morning, I'm emotionally worn out, having spent the week debating with the little lawyer (everything's a case to be argued). But today, I'm physically worn out. I've been out every night this week, trying to pack a year's worth of social activities into one week. I've seen two movies, one concert in the park, had three dinners with friends.

Since Mark's not around, there are no nightly blood sugar checks, and I should be in bed early. But I'm not--instead, I'm like a teenager away at college for the first time, staying up as late as I want, just because I can. Unfortunately, I'm not really a college kid, I'm actually a grownup with a real job that starts early in the morning, and I now have the bags under my eyes to prove it.

And I still have two more nights to go! I contemplate, briefly, staying home tonight but dismiss the idea immediately. It's book club night, and for once, that doesn't require a trip to the ATM to pay a babysitter. I can do this--weekends were made for sleep!

Day 6: Still scouring the camp Facebook page, but no photos of Mark. I know he's having a great time up there, and I can't wait to see him tomorrow.

I had a sort of epiphany today. I told everyone that I'm on a mommy vacation, which isn't really true. Vacation means you go away and stop worrying about all the stuff in your everyday life.

I realized today I'm not on vacation, I'm just on Pause. You know, like when you're watching TV, but you need a snack, or a bathroom break--you don't turn the TV off, you just press Pause.

That's what happened to me. None of my maternal duties or instincts went away while Mark was gone--I still worried that he was warm enough at night, eating enough, brushing his teeth. I worried if his blood sugars were in range, or if he had any super highs or lows. I never stopped worrying, I just took a little break.

Don't get me wrong, I've really enjoyed the break. Tomorrow I resume my mommy chores like cooking, cleaning and driving that kid around. I'm not looking forward to any of that. But I am looking forward to the actual kid. I miss that little rascal--I miss his laugh, his smile, his sassy (and funny) little self.

I've certainly enjoyed Pause--but I'm equally excited to hit Play once again.

I'm not the only one who's bad at math

This weekend, we went to a wedding reception for my brother Smed and his new wife, Shanda. A lot of our friends and family missed the wedding in St. Croix, so this was a chance to celebrate with them.

Shanda's parents, John and Debbie, hosted the reception. They did a great job.

The reception featured lots of desserts, like red velvet cake (my nephew Johnny's favorite!), chocolate cake (Smed's favorite), and cheesecake (Shanda's fav). Debbie also put out a huge basket of caramel and chocolate covered pretzel sticks, which turned out to be Mark's favorite. (Ironic, because Mark HATES pretzels. Won't touch them, unless they're covered in caramel and chocolate, apparently.)

The pretzel sticks were individually wrapped, which was perfect for slipping them into your pockets and running off to play. I watched the huge pile dwindle over the afternoon, and eventually, when I saw Mark swoop in for the fourth or fifth time, I called him on it.

He smiled and ran out to the garage. I followed the little stinker.

"Let me have it," I said, holding out my hand.

"What?" he asked, flashing me another huge grin. He slipped behind my mom--he knows Grandma will protect him.

"Hand over the pretzel stick," I repeated. "You've had enough."

"I don't have any!" he protested, and then, in the same breath, he cried, "I just have one!"

And of course, Grandma did step in.

"He said he doesn't have any," she said, in her most protective-Grandma voice ever.

"No," I clarified. "He said he has ONE. And that one is, like, his FIFTH pretzel!"

"Let him have it," my mom said, all sympathetic. THIS is the Grandma the kids love, the one who passes out cookies in pairs, saying, "One for each hand!"

I sighed. Once my mom and Mark team up, there's no beating them. I had to play equally dirty.

"OK," I sighed. "You win."

I knew what was coming, so I didn't stray too far away.

"That looks good," my sweet-toothed mom told Mark. "Go get me one."

"There aren't any more," I said. "The kids ate them all."

Then I smiled and stood back, ready to watch the fireworks.

"They're gone," I said. 

"Then give me that!" my mom said to Mark. She held out her hand, and with a sigh, he handed over the pretzel stick.

I just smiled. I realized that if you just wait it out, sometimes you actually can beat the bad math--and the Mark/Grandma team.

Adios, my son

Let me preface this by saying I love my kid. A LOT. With all my heart. But he's like a puppy--no matter how cute and sweet he is, he's also a lot of work.

So once a year, he goes to summer camp, and we both rejoice. He gets to spend a week in the mountains getting filthy and running wild (well, somewhat wild) and I get to spend a week...breathing. Relaxing. Recharging. It's amazing for us both.

This is that week. Saying I was a little wound up before he left is like saying there's a little media interest in that new royal baby.

On Saturday morning, I laid out Mark's duffel bag and sleeping bag.

"Your bags are ready," I told him. "I taped the packing list to them. Follow the list and you'll have everything you need."

"But--" Mark interrupted. I raised my hand to shush him.

"Follow the list," I repeated and walked away.

"Fine," he said. "But I have to do laundry first, so I have clothes to pack."

I congratulated him on thinking ahead. I didn't remind him that I'd been reminding him to do this all week.

We went to a wedding reception for my brother and sister-in-law, then out to dinner with her family. We returned around 8:30, which was when Mark realized he hadn't turned on the dryer. His clothes were still wet. With a giant sigh, I went to bed.

I awoke Sunday morning, realizing I'd miss Mark a lot this week. That lasted all of 10  minutes, when I found him in front of the TV, where he'd been for an hour.

"Are you packed?" I asked.

"Almost," he answered.

"Did you eat?" I asked.

"In a minute," he answered.

A minute turned into 30, when I reappeared, showered and ready to go. He was pulling pans, butter and eggs out to make himself breakfast. Our scheduled departure was 25 minutes away.

"Into the shower!" I cried, shooing him away. Nobody showers at camp until the last day, and Mark doesn't even really wash then. He just wets his hair so it looks like he showered.

Twenty-five minutes turned into 45 as I waited for Mark to dress, finish packing and load his stuff in the car.

"He really has no concept of time," my sis-in-law Mari marveled, watching him play with the cat. I sighed.

"I'm ready!" Mark exclaimed. He said good-bye to the family, climbed into the car, then ran back inside for his lunch.

"Bye, Mark!" the family cried, but two minutes later, Mark returned for his rain slicker.

"Bye, Mark,"  they repeated, a little less excitedly, when he came back for his hat.

"Mark's back AGAIN," Gabi exclaimed when Mark returned for his breakfast.

"It's not a return if he never left," Scott clarified.

Finally, somehow, we were off, a mere 15 minutes late.

"Did you bring a pillow?" I asked, halfway there. He forgot when we camped last weekend, and complained until his grandma brought one.

"Uh, NO," he sniped. I gave him the side eye, and he very smartly did NOT ask me to return home to get one.

His behavior at the camp drop-off was no less surprising. He stuffed his bags into the luggage trailer, all proud of himself until I asked where his lunch was.

"In my bag," he snorted. 

"Go get it!" I yelled.

"I'm not gonna eat it," he sighed. "I'm not even hungry."

He took one look at me and realized he'd better get. that. lunch. He scarfed it down 10 minutes later, then asked me to buy him more food because he was starving.

Mark hung out with some kids from last year's camp while I talked to their moms. We were having a great time, sharing war stories about our kids, when the bus was finally ready to load. The counselors called for the kids to use the restroom, and all three of our kids immediately announced they were good.

I looked at Mark, who'd just downed a soda.

"Don't have to go," he said.

"Go try," I said. "Or I will make a big scene about how much I'll miss you."

He looked at me, and I just sniffed. Then sniffed again. Then dug deeply, and shouted, "My baby! Mama's gonna miss her baby SOOOOOOOO much!" I raced toward Mark as the other moms laughed. The other campers laughed too, but only because their moms weren't chasing them.

"Fine!" Mark yelled. The boys ran off to the restrooms.

The bus was ready to go, but still missing a counselor. The head counselor called out his name.

"He's in the bathroom!" a girl answered.

"He just WENT to the bathroom!" said the boy counselor, exasperated.

"He's high," I cut in, and the counselor nodded. I meant his blood sugar, not drugs (high blood sugar makes you go to the bathroom a lot).

"Only in a group of diabetics could you say that and nobody even blinks," he said, and we all laughed.

And then, suddenly, it was time. The bus was loaded, and ready to go. We waved to the darkened windows our teens were hiding behind, and the camp leader announced we were free to go. There was a loud cheer (from the parents) and just like that, my blood pressure went down 50 points. I giggled to myself, and danced all the way to the car.

Like I said, I'll miss that kid of mine. But I'm planning to enjoy every moment until he returns. :-)

I wasn't expecting THAT

I have to admit, kids DO make life more interesting. For example, sometimes, pre-kid, I was surprised to find an old magazine in my car, or maybe even a sweatshirt previously thought lost.

But I never found anything as exciting as this:

Yup, that's a shark egg Mark found at the beach. My nephew Nic found one last year, and this year, the kids found a bunch of them. Guess Mark's ended up in my trunk, where it scared the bejesus out of me. (I wasn't sure if it was some giant bug or...I don't know what. All I know is that I screamed like a little girl when it fell out of the trunk.)

My fear subsided once I realized what it was. And the egg was empty, unlike the one Nic found last year, so I don't have to worry about the baby shark. (Hannah said the Nic found last year was stashed somewhere in his room--she visibly shook at the thought of that.) 

But now I have a new fear--the kids found three eggs on the beach this year. In like, a matter of minutes. Which kind of freaks me out--if there are that many empty eggs on the beach, then there's an equal number of baby sharks swimming there in the water.  Probably even more. A lot more.

And maybe that thought makes me scream like a little girl all over again.

Life's a beach

Last weekend was our annual family beach camping trip at Refugio State Beach, about 20 minutes north of Santa Barbara. It was, as usual, a blast.

We spent our time rotating from the beach to the camp site, then back again. The kids spent all of the daylight hours in the water, body surfing and laughing. They came home tired and very tan.

My parents spent their time at the campsite, relaxing and tasting all the food we prepared. My iron Dutch oven was a big hit again--Kim made some killer cinnamon rolls, and I made a new family favorite, Meatball Monkey bread. I also made cornbread and French Toast, to celebrate Bastille Day. I'm glad my family enjoyed my cooking, I just wish they weren't always sooooo surprised that my food is yummy. (I'm pretty sure "Wow, this is actually pretty good" in an awestruck tone is NOT a compliment!)

 

Refugio is awesome because no matter where you camp, you're only a few steps away from the beach. That's especially nice at dusk, when the sun sets over the palm trees and ocean. This time, we also got to see the moon rise.

The only bummer was that certain new family members (hello, Phoebe!) were obsessed with the beach, but not technically allowed on it. (It was kind of funny that the No Dogs Allowed sign featured a silhouette that looked exactly like Phoebe.)

Turns out young Phoebe is pretty strong--and strong-willed. She did not like Hannah's plan of walking near the beach--she wanted on the beach. When Phoebe took off running, Hannah lost hold of the leash, but luckily, Mark dove into the sand and caught it.

At one point, all four kids were tugging on Phoebe, trying to get her back to the road, but Phoebe was having none of it. Finally, the kids gave up and let her go. Phoebe ran off down the beach, victorious, with a giant smile, attacking the waves and washed-up kelp. You've never seen a happier dog than Phoebe was at that moment, trust me.

Phoebe was cold and wet by the time she came home, so Tim and the boys built the world's largest fire--I'm not gonna lie, at one point, even the boys worried we'd catch the camp on fire.

 
The funniest part was watching the boys prepare the fire, as only boys can do. As Nic and Mark gathered up wood for the fire, Hannah and I were distracted by a cute little gopher breaking through the ground nearby. We called Tim and Kim over to see it. 

"What're you guys doing?" Mark called out to us.

"Watching a gopher!" Tim answered. 


I turned to see Nic and Mark, in flip-flops, chopping wood.

"Who's watching the boys with the axe?" I asked, as Nic heaved the heavy ax over his head. I worried someone might be down a toe or two before we even lit the fire.
Miraculously, they kept all their toes intact. Tim and the boys worked together to build a giant wooden tee pee in the fire pit, which eventually grew into the flaming masterpiece above. Unfortunately, it burned so hot, we had to wait another 45 minutes to get close enough to roast marshmallows and not our faces.

Tim bought the kids a big new tent we dubbed "the teen dorm." All the kids AND their stuff fit inside, along with Phoebe's crate and bed. Mark was thrilled to stay with the kids. However, he hadn't taken his ADHD pill, was driving the kids a little bit crazy (he was literally bouncing off the tent walls at one point). But Hannah and Nic are good troubleshooters, and figured out how to solve the hyper Mark issue. Here's what I found when I went looking for him Sunday morning:
 

Nic tried convincing me Mark put himself in there, but who knows. Whose ever idea it was, it worked--the only reason I looked in the tent in at all was because it was too quiet in camp. 

Mark and I left just before a bizarre hot sand storm came in, threatening the camp and all the tents. I'm glad we got out just in time, since Mark took a shortcut while putting up my tent, and left the tent stakes in the car. (The rest of the family survived by escaping to a local brewpub until the winds died down.)

It was so much fun. Can't wait for next year!

A lesson in selective hearing

Mark's been out of school for a month now and I just found this. It's a report he wrote for health class about his latest obsession, energy drinks. (Seriously, Mark, you're a kid--how much more energy do you need???)

In addition to the report, the kids sampled the various energy drinks. I'm not sure how the health teacher survived that day, with 300 middle schoolers hopped up on mega-doses of caffeine, but I'm glad I wasn't there to witness it.

However...this post is not really about energy drinks or reports. It's about the fact that EVERY DAY I tell Mark to make his bed, eat his breakfast, brush his teeth and wash his hands. And yet, if grilled about his daily chores, Mark would not remember a single one.

It's about all the good advice, the life lessons, the words of wisdom I instill in my son each day, and how he completely ignores them. Instead, he chooses instead to focus on the stupid, random stuff I say when I'm tired or grumpy. Answers like the one I gave--without thinking or censoring myself--when he asked for a Monster energy drink. (That answer was incorporated into his report--see the highlighted area.)

Sigh...OK, fine, yes, I may have told him his heart would explode from all the caffeine. I said it in a funny, joking way, not that it came across that way in the report. I did not say you would die, although I agree with Mark that dying would be bad. (And apparently, I'm not responcable--err, responsible enough to raise a kid!)

Oh well. At least I got a little bit lucky in that Mark failed to cite his references for the report. Maybe his teacher will assume he got that golden nugget about exploding hearts from the Internet, and not from his mom.

Here's hoping...

Running on island time

I love a good vacation, and I love a happy wedding. And when the two are combined... well, that's the best of all worlds!

My brother Smed and Shanda tied the knot a couple weeks ago in St. Croix, and we went along to celebrate with them. Unfortunately, our whole family couldn't make it, so me, Mark, my parents and cousins John and Julie went to represent them (represent!).

It was a blast. Shanda's awesome, and we're all thrilled she said yes to Smed (trust me, we held our breath the whole time, exhaling only when she finally said, "I do"). Her family's also great, so instead of losing a son/brother, we doubled our family!

The wedding was wonderful. It was short and sweet. My brother is all stupid-goofy in love, and happy, happier than I've ever seen him, and it is truly awesome to see.

Happy family!

And in case you have any doubts that these two are soul mates...here's what I captured one night when I told them to smile at dinner time. Is there any doubt these two were made for each other???

I'd never been to St. Croix before, and I didn't have very high expectations. When I Googled "what to do in St. Croix," the only results that returned were snorkeling at Buck Island and beer-drinking pigs. (I don't even want to admit how excited the beer-drinking pig made me!)

I figured St. Croix would be beautiful, but I was more anxious it would be very hot. (I don't like hot.) I figured I'd suck it up for Smed and Shanda, and run off to the air conditioning as soon as the ceremony ended if need be.

But St. Croix surprised me. Our resort was right on the bay, which provided constant tradewinds to cool us down. As long as the winds were blowing, it was nice. As soon as the winds stopped, we moved into the pool, and life was good again.

The resort was all-inclusive, which meant all the food and drinks were included. (Or, as Mark observed, they were "free." So much to learn, that one.) I'd never been to an all-inclusive resort, but I kinda liked it--I never had to decide where to eat, or when.

Mark LOVED it. Every time I turned around, he was at the bar, ordering virgin pina coladas or dirty bananas (a pseudo-banana smoothie with chocolate sauce). I did panic once when he gave my 6-year-old nephew a drink, then proudly (and loudly) exclaimed, "Hey, Johnny likes pina coladas now!" I hurriedly explained to every one in ear shot that the drinks contained no alcohol.

I was also worried about the people of St. Croix, because my favorite thing about traveling is meeting new people, and learning about their countries. I've been to the Caribbean before, and the people I met were cranky, bitter, and not at all interested in conversation. I'm happy to say that was not the case with the younger Cruzans we met. They were happy, joyful, and welcoming. The older people who worked at the resort were not as openly friendly, and not much inclined to work on their people skills. When we placed our orders, we were never sure what we'd get--if we were lucky, we'd get half the food, and a few extra plates of stuff we didn't order.

One day, we asked for shrimp wraps, two orders of mozzarella sticks and a hot dog. We got the wraps, one plate of mozzarella sticks two orders of coconut shrimp (???), and no hot dog.

Mark and Johnny shared the plate of mozzarella sticks. Mark never did get his hot dog, or the second plate of mozzarella, but he filled up on the shrimp, so it was all good.

"Guess they forgot my other food," he said, as he ran off to the pool.

Suddenly, I heard laughter at the table next to us. I looked over to see the waiter dropping off a plate of mozzarella sticks, and the giant two-foot long hot dog. Maybe it was a coincidence that they ordered the same food we were missing, but I doubt it. Luckily, those kinds of things don't bother us--as long as the kids were fed, who cares.

But overall, the food was pretty good. Our favorite was Rok Star night, when they deliver your (raw) dinner on a 750 degree stone. I kind of gagged when I saw my raw shrimp and scallops (I'm not a sushi fan), but within minutes, the food was completely cooked through (I actually over-cooked it the first time, but it came out perfect the second time I ordered it). It was so cool!

Mark ordered the steak, which arrived equally raw. (It was dark, so I didn't notice until I looked at this photo later.) He loved it, too.

  
The resort had lots of fun activities, including paddle boards, sailboats and kayaks. Smed took Shanda and the boys out kayaking one day. It probably seemed like a good idea at the time, until he realized A) he and Mark were the sole paddlers and B) OMG, is that a giant squall coming toward us in that humongous black cloud? 

I tried taking my mom for a walk while all this was occurring, but she was too busy panicking about her grandchildren out at sea. So instead of walking, she stood under the deck having mini-heart attacks and fretting about how (or if) they'd get back to shore.

Apparently, Mark had the same concerns.

Most of the group stayed at the resort the whole time, but some of us wanted to see the island. We took the shuttle into town, a 20-minute ride with gorgeous views of the bays and wild iguanas. We arrived in Christiansted, the island's biggest town, to find it was approximately five streets down and five streets over, and filled with unopened stores. I began to fully grasp the concept of island time when I saw this sign:

For the record, we passed this place on three different days, all after 11 a.m., and never saw it open.  

My cousin John, Mark, and I went in to town one day for a snorkeling trip out to Buck Island. I am not a huge fan of boats or the open ocean, but Google insisted this is the best thing to do in St. Croix, hands down, so I sucked it up and went. I'm super glad I did. (One reason I was nervous about getting in the water? This guy, who Smed found during a walk on the beach.)

This was our boat--a wimpy little Catamaran. I immediately broke into a nervous sweat when I saw it.

"Is now a bad time to tell you boats make me anxious?" I asked John, as we sailed out of the harbor. I tried to play it off with a casual laugh, but I don't think he bought it.

The water was amazing--a turquoise blue you only see in paint tubes, not in real life.

 This was Buck Island:

This was the friendly local who greeted us upon arrival. He scared the crud out of the little boy who spent the whole boat ride over telling us how afraid he is of sharks. His sister ignored him, finally admitting the only thing that scared her were barracuda. She did not think it was awesome when he pointed and screamed, "Look, a giant barracuda!"

The snorkeling was unbelievable--we saw all sorts of tropical fish, including blue tangs, parrot fish, wrasses, and even an eagle spotted ray. (I didn't see that guy--I was too busy telling myself to stop freaking out and snorkel.) We snorkeled through the underwater national park, through coral reefs and fish. It was amazing.

People who had an equally amazing time? My dad, who never actually left the resort until we went home. He found a nice, comfy spot and enjoyed himself.

We had a blast--snorkeling, swimming, eating, relaxing. I didn't think I could do nothing for a whole week, but turns out, I'm pretty good at it. The activities were awesome, but the best thing about the whole trip (besides the wedding) was the company. I had such a great time hanging with my parents, my kid, my cousins, my brother and new sister-in-law, and all of Shanda's family. It was great for my parents, too, who got to spend lots of time with their grandsons. 

I'll always remember those blue, blue waters, and the pelicans dive-bombing the ocean in front of us. But I'll remember the little moments, too--my son wrestling with his cousin while I laughed and laughed at those silly boys. 

Because truly, the one thing that traveling's taught me is it really isn't about the destination, it's about the people on the journey with you. And I can't think of a better group to have spent my summer vacation with...  

And they lived happily ever after...

File under "Things that make me happy": Seeing my brother so incredibly happy and in love. Congrats to my brother and my new sister-in-law, Shanda!