We enter the cabin. It is stuffy and hot. Another mother is being assured by Kommandant David that he will indeed see that the baby spiders around her sons bed are taken care of. Zander gets a top bunk. He rolls out his sleeping bag. He arranges his pillow just so. He tucks his can't-sleep-without-it Popple in the corner where it won't prompt teasing but will be within easy reach when the lights go out. He props his Ted Dekker graphic novels on a little shelf and lines up his bottles oh so neatly - shampoo, sunscreen, bug spray...
Me: "Brush your teeth every morning and every night."
Zander: "Okay, mommy."
Me: "Brush your hair."
Zander: "Okay, mommy."
Me: "These are ONLY for the wacky clothes dinner. DO NOT wear them any other time."
Zander: "I know."
Me: "Shower."
Zander: "Why?"
Me: "Shower."
Zander: "Okay."
He's only 8. A whole week seems like so long. He isn't concerned. He hugs and kisses us goodbye before running to the playground to play Grounders with his cabin mates who are already his friends.
"Love you," I call out as he climbs the monkey bars.
"Love you, too!" he yells back - not old enough to be embarrassed.
"See you on Saturday!"
"Yeah!" and he's already immersed in camp life and won't even think of me again until I show up a week later wondering how he managed to loose all six pairs of underwear and "why oh why are you wearing the rainbow visor that was only for the wacky clothes dinner?"
Your son is in very good hands, I know Jon and I'm pretty sure I know Dave too.
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