The kids are at camp. For a month. We dropped them there and, like first days of most anything, it was awkward. New counselors, new other kids. But — fingers crossed — they’ll love it like they did the last two years, when they went for two weeks. Fingers crossed, they won’t miss us much. But then, don’t we want them to miss us a little?
I say it every year when the kids go to camp that the experience offers all of us the chance to practice living apart. It gives us a little window into what it will be like when they fly the coop. I know, they’re only 9 and 12, but diapers seem days ago, so I have no illusions that time left with them at home won’t speed by. And then what? Will they call?
The challenge for me, always, is how to find that balance between giving the kids their independence and keeping them close. How do I let them know they can rely on me, but also give them confidence that they can rely on themselves? If they don’t need me, don’t I become expendable?
Disney shows it so well. Every child in their movies gets lost from their mother and fares just fine. Sure, they have a few harrowing close calls, but inevitably they prevail.
When I think of the kids at camp, I am reminded of the day we picked them up the first year. It was a far cry from the awkward drop-off scenario. They were clad in an odd array of pajamas and clothes, with things tied around their heads and arms and legs, like warriors. They were running in the woods around the cabins with their cabin mates in the throes of some game, and they looked up to see us. We might have been strangers from a strange land they’d dreamt of once but had since forgotten. They were immersed, scabby, and filthy, apparently in the same pair of underwear they’d arrived in, But they were very, very happy.
I learned the best lesson of camp: moms can badger and coax and cajole, but our kids will still have to choose for themselves the way they want to live when they’re on their own — even if it means wearing the same underwear for two weeks straight.
That said, of course, this year I bought them little owl laundry bags and said about 15 times that I hoped underwear would be changed and sent out to wash. Did they listen or were they too excited about shooting BBs and going water-skiing?
I think my mother messages are subliminal. If I say them often enough, maybe it will sink in. When we are separated, now for camp or later, as they make their way in the world, I hope that more than just the nags stick with them, that they also absorb things like, “You’ll be fine;” or “You’re so good at things;” or “You can do it;” or “Just do your best.”
Just before we left them this year, the boys were waiting by the fence for their swim test. Eli seemed a little agitated, and was sure he’d be stuck in beginner again.
“But you’re a great swimmer,” I said, “You just have to try.”
A few minutes later, the boys were in the lake, getting tested. I couldn’t watch.
They emerged a bit later looking slightly surprised.
“We both got green,” Eli said.
My heart swelled. I’d known they had it in them, and I’d said as much, but you never know. Sometimes we don’t believe things about ourselves even when our own mother tells us.
“It was good you were here,” my husband, G, said.
“Why? You think what I said helped?” I asked.
“Definitely,” he said.
I hoped then that my kids might miss me just enough to remember my words of support. And to change undies.
Read Fearless Parenting every other Thursday on BrooklynPaper.com.
