Camp

Ethan has been in Habitat Camp this week. The camp that everyone raves about or covets. The camp that always fills by the preceding December; that we've not been able to get into for years, and finally did this year, last minute, from the waiting list. I was so excited! (I rejiggered our entire summer schedule around it.)

But my little prince couldn't care less. He tells me that he hates it, that it's too long and too boring. He BEGS and PLEADS to stay at home. Just like he did with gymnastics, karate, baseball, music and...school! So far, of all the things we've tried, only swimming, ice skating and skiing have been embraced. He would rather hang out at home, ride his bike, his scooter or his half-bike/half-scooter around Ivy road and visit his much-older love, Margot, or his younger one, Hattie.

What am I to make of this? How do I navigate the endless activities? How many and which ones do I assign? How many and which ones do I..."push"??? I almost said ENFORCE. (Yikes.) That's the problem right there. Never mind the lost money and the terrible stress we go through whenever it's time to go--I'm worried that Ethan is starting to hate me! What does he make of all this scheduling (a small fraction, by the way, of the kid-scheduling that goes on around us)? And how will it impact his life later on? Have I become my parents already?? I very well remember my dreaded violin lessons, my dented, blistered fingertips and aching chin. I still remember the grotesque breath and personality of my piano teacher, my suffocating ballet slippers, and the biting chill of the skating rink. And now that I think of it, I even remember my first camp experience, sobbing and begging to stay home. And I definitely remember hating my mom and dad. But I also remember (much later) wishing that I had stuck with something and developed a real talent. For years I held my mother responsible for letting me quit. She couldn't win, I guess, as she didn't have the 'magic formula.' Or maybe it's a Time Machine that lets children see their talentless, full-of-resentment future selves--for just a moment--before whisking them back to that oboe lesson. Whatever. She didn't have it, and I don't either. Unless she had it, didn't recognize it for what it was, and--duh--forgot to pass it on to me when I became a mother! ;) That's the best case scenario (for me). Worst case: I am my parents, Ethan is me.

MUST...FIGURE OUT...PROPER BALANCE...

But I digress. This camp entry was meant to tell the following:

I forgot to pack Ethan's snack today, and was harshly reprimanded (by him) at pick up. I felt so terribly guilty, I promised him that I would be his "puppet" for the rest of the day. Anyway, not only did Ethan demand an extra "treat" before dinner (and of course that meant one for Cami too), he also made me tie a jumprope around my waist and run up and down Ivy Road while he held on to the other end and chased me. I think he must have heard "puppy".

Here they are enjoying their bonus Popsicles:












Note the toenail polish courtesy of Aunt Hildi.