Two exhausted, sun-kissed, teenage boys returned home last night after a week of summer camp.
It’s too soon. They need more time..I need more time.
I mean, like, the milk didn’t even expire while they were gone.
My boys had a dream week sailing, water skiing, canoeing and tubing. They dropped fishing lines in the bay and shot the breeze with their buddies under robin egg- blue skies. They bonded with cabin mates and counselors, performed in a talent show, attended a dance and played goofy, team building games. They were fed like Kings. They had the time of their lives.
And…lookout..this just in..the oldest boy’s cabin got to hang out with the oldest girl’s cabin one hour after “lights out” for the rest of the camp…this blurted out by the younger, envious brother…my ashes would have been long sprinkled before older brother shared that sensitive intelligence.
I expect those little nuggets of information will keep trickling out over the next few weeks..months..years. I don’t know about your teenage boys, but mine have about a 20 second window per day for “gab” time with Mom.
I had a dream week too.
I went to work every day…….but…
I did NOT step one foot into the grocery store.
There was no cooking, no dirty dishes, no nagging.
The toilet seats were down and clean…joy and bliss.
Now, I have piles and piles of filthy camp clothing to sort through..the wash pile, the soak for days pile, and the throw right in the garbage pile. Is that underwear or a sock? ( Note to self..bring surgical gloves from work next time…and boost my Hepatitis vaccination.)
But, there it was..always something to jolt me back to gratitude. A folded letter shoved into the pocket of a very stinky pair of shorts. My only source of communication with my boys at camp..an email that the counselor prints out and delivers at mail call.
How sweet..standing in my basement laundry room in the middle of the night, surrounded by a mountain of laundry that smelled like the bottom of a crabbing boat, I imagined my half-boy, half-man reading my letter, smiling, and then carefully folding it and placing it in his pocket..perhaps reaching in throughout the day to touch the words..maybe he could feel my love for him..the thought had me sniffing again.
I carefully unfolded my masterpiece, wanting to reread my letter..what a good Mom I am…
Luke? My son’s name is Matthew. I read Luke’s letter from his Mom. Luke’s Mom had it going on..she was upbeat and even sent him a list of jokes..a real cut-up. Not a single reminder to wear sunscreen. ( my letter screamed “WEAR YOUR SUNSCREEN!!”) Next year I am googling jokes for teenage boys before I hit send. Meanwhile..somewhere in another laundry room, Luke’s Mom is reading a “Dear Matthew” letter and shaking her head in disbelief at the wackiness of some Moms..
I need more time.