So. Summer vacation is winding down, my boys have completed eight weeks at their local rec and synagogue affiliated day camps, and the countdown (to hurry up and finish that summer reading) is on as school officially starts on August 16.
(Side Note: Why does my child hate to read? If someone ordered me to go to my room -alone- for thirty minutes every day and read a book of my choosing I would probably try to make out with that person and not accuse them of trying to ruin my life because they turned off Pokemon Go!)
So, what am I doing with my kids with two weeks of summer left before all of this madness officially begins?
Sports Camp.
Yep, that's right -I threw them back in camp for one last week before back-to-school shopping* and early bedtimesare attempted begin next week. I found a camp that didn't end on July 30th and I signed Kid #1 and Kid #2 right up. To be fair, they went last year and loved it and actually asked if they could go back again this year.
Still, I had a moment of mommy-guilt when I realized that out of the entire summer, my kids would only have one week of pure, organized-activity-free freedom.
Was I over scheduling them?
Not letting them be kids?
Then they spent an hour last week Friday chasing each other through the house shrieking at the top of their lungs, tackling each other and throwing bouncy balls around my dining room and I said screw it, I will happily pay for someone else to play referee in a place where they can throw balls at the wall all day and not risk shattering a Crystal vase or my sanity.
Money. Well. Spent.
However, the night before sports camp started, Kid #1 started to have second thoughts. It came from the realization that his younger brother would not be in the same camp group as him this year because he has aged out of it.
Suddenly faced with the prospect of not knowing anyone, he started to get nervous.
And when he started to get nervous, I started to get a little anxious.
Actually, I fucking panicked.
Suddenly I was having flashbacks of being dropped off at various camps throughout my childhood where I didn't know a single kid.** To say I was a shy kid is a bit of an understatement. To say that making friends with total strangers was absolutely terrifying to me is more accurate. Add a schedule jam packed with activities like dodgeball, soccer, hockey and something called "death match" and I was just hours away from sending my eight year old directly into my biggest nightmare.
On top of that, this was the child that historically has had the hardest time with separation. I often say that I practiced attachment parenting with him not because I was philosophically opposed to putting him down but because he screamed bloody murder any time he wasn't physically touching me until he was roughly three years old.
I vividly remember the day I dropped him off at his first preschool camp. I left him happily playing with toy cars on the floor with some other kids, told him I was going to the potty, and made a beeline for the nearest Starbucks.
Free. At. Last.
Until I got the phone call five minutes later that I MUST come back to school my child was hysterically crying and they had to remove him from the classroom because he was upsetting the other kids.
I spent the next two weeks sitting on a chair in the corner of his room, gradually inching it towards the doorway, attempting to regain the trust of my two year old and hoping that by the time he graduated from high school I'd at least have managed to get that chair out into the parking lot where I could hang out with the cool kids cutting class while waving to him and shouting encouraging words to him through the window outside his classroom.
Over time, however, my stage five clinger has miraculously become a super social, well-adjusted kid who lets me drop him off at birthday parties and everything.
But still, after his hesitation about sports camp, I called The Husband in a panic.
Was I making a mistake?
Should I have lined up a friend to go with him as I had done for Kid #2 (who, to be honest, probably would have been fine not knowing anyone because he exists in a world full of imaginary partners most of the time anyway).
And, were we sure about sports? Maybe sports aren't his thing. Despite having a successful summer playing baseball, this is also my kid who adores the performing arts...Maybe we were pushing him to be something he's not?
The Husband shut me down with four words: Relax, he'll be fine.
Yep, that's right -I threw them back in camp for one last week before back-to-school shopping* and early bedtimes
Still, I had a moment of mommy-guilt when I realized that out of the entire summer, my kids would only have one week of pure, organized-activity-free freedom.
Was I over scheduling them?
Not letting them be kids?
Then they spent an hour last week Friday chasing each other through the house shrieking at the top of their lungs, tackling each other and throwing bouncy balls around my dining room and I said screw it, I will happily pay for someone else to play referee in a place where they can throw balls at the wall all day and not risk shattering a Crystal vase or my sanity.
Money. Well. Spent.
However, the night before sports camp started, Kid #1 started to have second thoughts. It came from the realization that his younger brother would not be in the same camp group as him this year because he has aged out of it.
Suddenly faced with the prospect of not knowing anyone, he started to get nervous.
And when he started to get nervous, I started to get a little anxious.
Actually, I fucking panicked.
Suddenly I was having flashbacks of being dropped off at various camps throughout my childhood where I didn't know a single kid.** To say I was a shy kid is a bit of an understatement. To say that making friends with total strangers was absolutely terrifying to me is more accurate. Add a schedule jam packed with activities like dodgeball, soccer, hockey and something called "death match" and I was just hours away from sending my eight year old directly into my biggest nightmare.
On top of that, this was the child that historically has had the hardest time with separation. I often say that I practiced attachment parenting with him not because I was philosophically opposed to putting him down but because he screamed bloody murder any time he wasn't physically touching me until he was roughly three years old.
I vividly remember the day I dropped him off at his first preschool camp. I left him happily playing with toy cars on the floor with some other kids, told him I was going to the potty, and made a beeline for the nearest Starbucks.
Free. At. Last.
Until I got the phone call five minutes later that I MUST come back to school my child was hysterically crying and they had to remove him from the classroom because he was upsetting the other kids.
I spent the next two weeks sitting on a chair in the corner of his room, gradually inching it towards the doorway, attempting to regain the trust of my two year old and hoping that by the time he graduated from high school I'd at least have managed to get that chair out into the parking lot where I could hang out with the cool kids cutting class while waving to him and shouting encouraging words to him through the window outside his classroom.
Over time, however, my stage five clinger has miraculously become a super social, well-adjusted kid who lets me drop him off at birthday parties and everything.
But still, after his hesitation about sports camp, I called The Husband in a panic.
Was I making a mistake?
Should I have lined up a friend to go with him as I had done for Kid #2 (who, to be honest, probably would have been fine not knowing anyone because he exists in a world full of imaginary partners most of the time anyway).
And, were we sure about sports? Maybe sports aren't his thing. Despite having a successful summer playing baseball, this is also my kid who adores the performing arts...Maybe we were pushing him to be something he's not?
The Husband shut me down with four words: Relax, he'll be fine.
And then three more: He's not you.
Oh yeah.
So, yesterday morning arrived, I pulled into sports camp (which, to Kid #1's delight is also a Poke Stop or Poke Gym or Poke Motel or whatever it is that my kids are always poking with my phone) and started to walk the kids into camp.
Kid #2 gave me a barely perceptible nod and half-wave when I said good-bye.
Out of habit, and as an attempt to still the butterflies in my stomach, I grabbed Kid #1 by the hand and started to head over to his group's meeting spot. To my surprise, Kid #1 did something he's never done before. He let go of my hand and walked ahead of me, not even looking back while I signed him in.
It took me a moment to recognize what had just happened.
Sometime in the last eight years he has gone from the baby who still wanted to live in my uterus to the toddler who couldn't stand to have me out of his sight to the little kid who adored me and now suddenly he's...embarrassed by me?
I remembered all the times that people would see him hanging on my leg and say to me, "Enjoy it, one day he won't want to be seen with you."
I also remembered thinking, "That's highly unlikely. Also, right now I'm about to lose circulation in my shins."
But now that time was actually sort of here. The kid who still snuggles in my lap and wants extra cuddles before bed doesn't want his friends to know how much he loves and (still) needs his mommy.
Oh yeah.
So, yesterday morning arrived, I pulled into sports camp (which, to Kid #1's delight is also a Poke Stop or Poke Gym or Poke Motel or whatever it is that my kids are always poking with my phone) and started to walk the kids into camp.
Kid #2 gave me a barely perceptible nod and half-wave when I said good-bye.
Out of habit, and as an attempt to still the butterflies in my stomach, I grabbed Kid #1 by the hand and started to head over to his group's meeting spot. To my surprise, Kid #1 did something he's never done before. He let go of my hand and walked ahead of me, not even looking back while I signed him in.
It took me a moment to recognize what had just happened.
Sometime in the last eight years he has gone from the baby who still wanted to live in my uterus to the toddler who couldn't stand to have me out of his sight to the little kid who adored me and now suddenly he's...embarrassed by me?
I remembered all the times that people would see him hanging on my leg and say to me, "Enjoy it, one day he won't want to be seen with you."
I also remembered thinking, "That's highly unlikely. Also, right now I'm about to lose circulation in my shins."
But now that time was actually sort of here. The kid who still snuggles in my lap and wants extra cuddles before bed doesn't want his friends to know how much he loves and (still) needs his mommy.
And it's only going to get worse. One day he won't even let me get out of the car. One day he might make me drop him off a block away (I get it, I'm kind of embarrassed about the minivan too).
And so, I made my way back to my car, resisted the incredibly strong urge to run back to his group where he was standing, alone, watching a few other kids who seemed to already know each other and say "Hey guys, this is Kid #1! He's really cool, do you want to talk about Pokemon or sports or something?!?" and instead I drove away, saying to myself over and over again "He's not you. He's not you. He's not you."
When I picked him up six hours later he was hot. He was tired. He was red-faced because he forgot to reapply his sunscreen. He smelled like a locker room.
But he was happy. And he made friends (ok, they might be mostly his counselors, but still...) And he loves dodge ball.
Because he's not me.
*Back to school shopping for boys is basically sprinting through the boys' department at Target or Old Navy (or Gap if you're fancy and/or OK with $25 tee shirts getting ruined on the playground) and grabbing a few shirts with collars and pants with buttons on the waistband instead of elastic. I would lament that I don't get to experience the mother-daughter bonding ritual of having my daughter mouth off to me in a Justice dressing room but I figure I used to work for Justice, I've had my fill of glitter encrusted jeans and leopard print leggings.
**I realize that by sending me to camps where I didn't know anyone and had to talk to new people was my parents' way of trying to get me to broaden my horizons and come out of my shell.
And so, I made my way back to my car, resisted the incredibly strong urge to run back to his group where he was standing, alone, watching a few other kids who seemed to already know each other and say "Hey guys, this is Kid #1! He's really cool, do you want to talk about Pokemon or sports or something?!?" and instead I drove away, saying to myself over and over again "He's not you. He's not you. He's not you."
When I picked him up six hours later he was hot. He was tired. He was red-faced because he forgot to reapply his sunscreen. He smelled like a locker room.
But he was happy. And he made friends (ok, they might be mostly his counselors, but still...) And he loves dodge ball.
Because he's not me.
*Back to school shopping for boys is basically sprinting through the boys' department at Target or Old Navy (or Gap if you're fancy and/or OK with $25 tee shirts getting ruined on the playground) and grabbing a few shirts with collars and pants with buttons on the waistband instead of elastic. I would lament that I don't get to experience the mother-daughter bonding ritual of having my daughter mouth off to me in a Justice dressing room but I figure I used to work for Justice, I've had my fill of glitter encrusted jeans and leopard print leggings.
**I realize that by sending me to camps where I didn't know anyone and had to talk to new people was my parents' way of trying to get me to broaden my horizons and come out of my shell.
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