Independence Day?

On Sunday we dropped Maggie off at camp. This was one of the events planned for last summer that got delayed by Covid. It is a new camp for her, and she went without a friend, which is a first, and also kind of a surprising choice for my introverted girl. But, it's an art camp, and she'll be doing activities like watercolor, role-playing, acting, drawing, and Asian cuisine, which she chose herself. It should be right up her alley, and will hopefully be filled with like-minded kids for her to connect with. 

In other years, when we have dropped the girls off at camp, we have gone with them to the cabin, helped to make their beds, and gotten at least a glimpse of the other kids and their parents. We have walked around, met some counselors, and gotten a general feel for the place. 

Now, in the era of Covid, all of that has changed. Along with lists of what to pack and not pack, and millions of forms to fill out, we received our drop off instructions last week. Not only were we not to walk them to their rooms and help make their beds (I'm really ok with that part), but parents weren't even allowed to get out of the car - at all. We pulled up, they asked her name, then she got out and counselors came over and unloaded the back of the car. (Also, not sad about being unable to carry her massive pile of can't-live-withouts). And then, with no ceremony at all, the director told us that we could leave. It was over in minutes, maybe even seconds. 

As he said we were good to go, I looked back to see Maggie checking in. She was in her carefully chosen outfit, complete with her bucket hat, and was talking to a couple of counselors, and she looked understandably nervous. We hadn't even said goodbye. I didn't know if she knew that we would be leaving already or not, but I didn't want her to turn around and see us gone. I know that she was there to be independent,  but at that moment the line between independent and alone felt a little blurred to me, so I did probably the most embarrassing teen mom thing I could do, and called out to her. She looked surprised but not unhappy to run over to the car so that I could hug her goodbye. Or if she was, she humored me, at least. 

Now, she is in New Hampshire, hopefully living her best life, and I check the schedule at various points in the day to see what she's up to. Unlike other camps that post pictures every evening, this one waits until the end of the session to post them all, so there's no daily feeling of connection like I had with her other camp. The idea is to prevent parents from having the expectation of seeing their child every day, and from worrying if their child doesn't look ecstatic in every photo. I get it. But I'd really still like a peek! Every once in a while her sister will ask me what I think she's doing, if I think she's having fun, or even if I think she likes the food. I don't know the answers, and of course I won't until I eventually get what is sure to be a brief letter. But I try to imagine anyway, picturing her meeting new people and learning new things that I have no connection to. It's weird. I know it's exactly how it's supposed to be, but it still feels weird. 

I guess camp is a lesson in independence for both of us. 

The Turtle

                                                    

 Every summer our family grows. Not with humans, but with animals. This year is no different. Aside from the four people living at our address, there are currently turtles, woodchucks (my husband's adorable nemesis), a family of four skunks, which we recently discovered living in our rock wall (also super cute if you don't get too close), many birds, and large clan of baby and adult rabbits. There are other animals around, of course, but these are the ones who we interact with daily. I'll often hear an animated conversation going on, only to find  my husband scolding orioles for taking hummingbird food or yelling at woodchucks for digging in the garden, and my daughter never passes by one of the baby bunnies without telling it that she loves it. 

Yesterday afternoon, my husband had an argument with a turtle. Although I usually take the animals' side when he lectures them about eating his berries or messing up the mulch in the flowerbeds, I could see his point this time, since the turtle was clearly being reckless. When we first saw it, we were on our way to the grocery store, and it was headed towards the road at a pretty good speed. We stopped our car at the end of the driveway, got out, and attempted to explain the issue to the turtle and redirect it. It wasn't thrilled and made several attempts to get around us towards the road, but eventually let us herd it down the hill and away from danger. 

An hour or so later, we cautiously turned into the driveway, and scanned the area and road for the turtle - smooshed or otherwise. I checked the road first, relieved to see that it had followed our advice and stayed safe. But just as I announced the all clear, my husband called out, "Nope! Look!" There was our turtle friend. Safe from the road, but sitting right in the middle of the driveway, on a curve, just daring a delivery driver (or minivan driver) to run it over. 

So, once again we got out of the car. Once again, Mike tried to reason with it. If it is possible for turtles to roll their eyes, I'm pretty sure this one did. But, with what I assume was an annoyed sigh, it eventually let itself be herded once again - this time towards the stream where it belongs.