“To have a child is to decide forever
to have your heart walking around outside your body.”
~ Elizabeth Stone
In approximately 5 months, both my kids will be at camp. Most of you reading this think: “hey, she’s counting down the days because she’s got some exotic trip planned or is super excited about it.” Quite the opposite: I’m freaking out. The other night, I started to have a mini panic attack. After all, it will be Jared’s first time away from home for that long. Sure, my kids will do fine–exceptional even. It’s all me. I’m wigging out about it.
I didn’t plan on being THAT mom-they worrywart, the one who stifles her kids’ independence and free spirits. Truth be told, I don’t think I’m that entirely. But why am I so worried about them being gone from me for almost a week?
Invariably, some smartass (read my husband) reminds me that I need to have a little faith. What am I so afraid of, really? The mama bird teaches her babies to fly and doesn’t suddenly “take it all back” when they leave the nest. Deep down, I KNOW they will have a blast. And I will be praying for their safety and their growth and that they love themselves and our family even more when the final camp song is sung.
I remember the first time Taylor went to camp: I made myself miserable that week. At first, I quickly consented to her going. Then as the day approached, I got wiggy. Call it anxiety at “letting your firstborn child who has hardly spent a day away from you and she’s only 8” or the fact that I never DID summer camp as a kid (unless you count “orchestra camp”-HA!), but I was full on basket case.
I’m telling you all this because I need some prayers and some people who are willing to tell me to SNAP OUT OF IT when my funk sinks in. Because it will. That’s just how I’m wired. I’ll need your success stories and your tales of how camp was so crucial to your kids or to you growing up. I will CRAVE hearing them. I will heap tons of praise and thanks on you. You could even tell me some now-obviously, I can use all the reassurance I can get!