Maybe There Should Be Camps for Parents

It’s the first week of April and I have not signed my children up for summer camp yet. The squares on my calendar spanning from the middle of June to the end of August – the 10 full weeks that make up summer vacation — are blank.

I am at once calm and panicked. I am proud not to have succumbed to the pressure to plan our summer schedule half a year in advance. I am terrified that those summer days will blend into weeks and then months of whining boredom.

Like Christmas decorations, the camp brochures seem to arrive earlier each year. Glossy pamphlets began filling my mail box in early February. Sorting the mail tempts me to live not in the moment, but to propel myself months into the future. On a cold, grey, mid-winter afternoon, I give in and anticipate what we’ll be doing the first week in August.

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Tooth Fairy Gives Kids Money; Moms Get Memories

Shortly after my son lost his first tooth, he began asking what the tooth fairy did with the teeth she collected. His kindergarten mind grappled with how the tooth fairy made the money that she left under children’s pillows at night. Since I had no ready answers, I let him ponder.

That Halloween, our dentist offered to collect Halloween candy for the tooth fairy. Each child who turned over his trick-or-treat loot could choose a toy from the dentist’s toy box. After my son reluctantly parted with his colorful assortment of fun-sized candy bars, he smiled knowingly. In the car, he announced that the tooth fairy must sell the Halloween candy and use the profit to fund her nighttime pursuits.

“But what does she do with the teeth?” he asked.

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Clue

When it comes to board games, my family used to be fair-minded, good sports. On a rainy weekend afternoon, my eight-year-old daughter might cheer if her brother rolled a Yatzee. My twelve-year-old son might slip me a stack of pink bills when, almost broke, I landed on my husband’s Park Place. Meanwhile, my husband, the banker, pretends not to notice.

But then my daughter received Clue for Christmas, and everything changed.

As soon as we opened the box and held those tiny weapons in our hands, the mundane but menacing rope, the utilitarian yet dangerous lead pipe, the handy yet deadly wrench, a fiercely competitive pall descended over us, clouding our judgment, turning us into cut throat, board game Crime Scene Investigators.

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Picture-Perfect for Daughter’s School Picture Day

Today is picture day at my seven-year-old daughter’s elementary school. Last night she asked me to set her fine, straight, golden streaked hair in pin curls. While I knew she had read about pin curls in her Molly, an American Girl: 1944 book — 1944 being a golden age for pin curls ­­­– I was still taken aback.

When I was a girl, every year when picture day rolled around, my mother insisted on setting my slack, black hair. One year it was pin curls, another year rag curls and another pink foam rollers. On the eve of picture day, I slept restlessly with bobby pins or roller holders sticking into my skull while wearing a nylon, floral print roller bonnet or worse, toilet paper wrapped around my head to protect my mother’s handiwork.

In the morning, I would watch in disbelief as she unwound springy curls which made my round face look even rounder. By the time I sat for my picture, the curls would have deflated, losing much of their bounce.

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Volunteer

I am a recovering parent volunteer.

I held the position of room mom for grades Pre-K through fourth, organizing class parties and drivers for field trips. I drove to destinations like the zoo, the fire department, the recycling center, and the pumpkin patch.

I served as the secretary, vice-president, and president of the home and school club of my children’s elementary school. I sat on the Enrichment Committee, the Fundraising Committee, the Auction Committee, the Teacher Appreciation Luncheon Committee, and the Literature Committee.

I baked dozens of bare sugar cookies for decorating in the shape of shamrocks in March, butterflies in May, pumpkins in November, and snowmen in December.

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Christmas Cleaning

Most people wait until spring to clean out the cupboards, but not me.

With Christmas looming, I feel the need to purge. Ever since we put up our Christmas tree, I have felt claustrophobic. Every time a package arrives on my doorstep, I feel edgy. Stashing gifts in the garage makes me tense.

I know that come Christmas Eve all the carefully wrapped presents will fit neatly under the tree, but their contents will expand upon opening, filling our living room, and eventually demanding to be absorbed into our home.

However, there is no room at the inn.

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A Good Suitcase

One item down near the end of my daughter’s Christmas list catches my eye. In her careful, loopy handwriting, she had printed, “a good suitcase.”

A good suitcase? Did she mean good as in Samsonite or good as in Louis Vuitton? I suppose she meant something better than the purple Hello Kitty roller bag she persistently asked for and received for her fourth birthday — the now worn bag that she still methodically packs days in advance of any family car trip.

I’ve always thought of luggage as the appropriate gift for a high school graduate heading off to college, not a third grader who goes to an occasional slumber party. Therefore, I am inclined to dismiss the request as unnecessary if not outlandish. However, I decide to find out more.

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Unsupervised

My 11-year-old son was recently invited to go bowling with the five other boys that make up his close circle of friends. The parent who proposed the bowling outing intended to drop the boys off and pick them up a few hours later.

I hesitated.

The bowling alley includes a full-service bar and an arcade, features that attract a seedy crowd. The local paper lists it as the vicinity of frequent nighttime police calls. However, on weekend afternoons it’s a mecca for school aged birthday parties. It’s anyone’s guess who might be hanging out there in the middle of a weekday during mid-winter break.

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