My daughters left for sleep-away camp on Monday. They come home on Sunday. A short one week trial of sleep-away camp to see if they’d like it, to give them a gentle nudge towards independence. (At least that’s the way my hard core camp husband sold it to me.) Here’s the thing about sleep-away camp that I wasn’t prepared for – I wouldn’t speak to my kids for 6 days. In my mind somehow I forgot this. I’ve been away from them before but I’ve always called home to talk to them and hear a recap of their day. Nope, that’s just not how things work at camp. So every night my husband and I have pathetically waited for the pictures of camp to be posted on the photo site and then go through them with a fine tooth comb looking for a sign of our girls and more importantly to find some proof that they’re having fun. A smile! Arms around a group of girls! Eating marshmallows! All good signs.
Then today we came home to find two letters, one from each of them which must have been written on their first day of camp. We read the first one:
All good right?
Then we opened the second one:
And our hearts fell to the ground. And we laughed. Thank goodness we have the pics of her smiling like crazy at camp or I’d really be worried. Instead I think I’ll be proud of the fact that she has obviously mastered the art of Jewish Guilt. And my husband? The one who went to summer camp for 7 weeks at the age of 7? He is 100 times worse than I am and I think will be touring the Columbia University campus this fall to see how they can commute to college in 10 years without ever leaving home!