Fast forward... I'm on sleeping bag number three. So is my nine year old. He outgrew the Thomas the Train sleeping bag we purchased before he was born.
So, what do you need to know about Pamela the writer... It's summer. I do my best writing, and I have a book due in two weeks. Last week, my son went to Cub Camp.
The above cabin was the Mommy cabin that I stayed in.
To the left is the bottom bunk I slept in. And, yes, the mattress was not my friend.
Outside the cabin was a porch. I pulled a chair out there and read my book (when I should have been writing.) I watched three squirrels. Two were on one tree. The lone squirrel was very close to me. Had I a nut, I could have tossed it and hit him. He was inching up the tree. Then, here came a bird, attacking him. Landing on his back! My book did not have such a glorious black moment. The squirrel gave up; the birds were victorious. I figure there must have been a nest in that tree.
Just so you know, as we were driving home, Mike said to me, "Mom, guess what?"
Mike: "As I was packing to return home, I unrolled my jeans and there was my toothbrush. I'd been looking for it."
Me: "So, you didn't brush your teeth the entire time we were camping?"
Mike: "Not even once."
For a week.
I'm not in the Mommy cabin.
I'm in our home, picking up his legos and returning them to his too quiet bedroom.
I didn't cry when I said goodbye. I'm raising an independent little guy and I want him to know he can soar without me.
At least for a week.