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. :-)
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