I love my girls. We have a blast together. We ski ALOT. We make endless fun of each other. Secret shopping trips and schlep into the city to seek out the newest ramen restaurant. But between passing 8th grade math and 6th grade science, Hebrew school carpools and sports practices, my relationship with my husband (who I also love dearly) barely has a chance of making it past the negotiations of who is driving carpool to a camp friend’s Bat Mitzvah nearly two hours away that weekend.
Until the summer. I wouldn’t say I am the mom cheering as the bus pulls away, but I am not exactly the one running after it either. Camp isn’t only a gift we give our children. It is one we give ourselves. The one that frees us up from carpools, stalking Instagram feeds, and trying to explain why one day they will be glad they can understand exponents with fractional bases (is that even a thing?).
For seven blissful weeks, the only logistics that cross our minds is where are we heading for dinner that night. Our fridge holds very little more than eggs, avocados, limes and champagne. And the best part- we actually talk to each other! About real things. You should try it. I promise- you’ll love it. And after a few days, you’ll forget all about that photo refresh button.
Need a peek into what life is like with the kids at camp – this is the only recipe book we use for seven weeks… http://deathandcobook.com/
