My 11 year old daughter’s been at camp, 100 miles away, for nearly a week, and I DON’T MISS HER.
Well, maybe I should rephrase that. I miss HER. But I don’t miss the drama she creates on a daily basis. I don’t miss the way she fights with her sister. I don’t miss the backtalk, the disrespect, the stomping and door slamming, the defiance. It’s been downright peaceful around here since last Monday.
And it’s been quite nice to spend a little one on one time with my 10 year old daughter. We’ve been swimming, taking walks, reading together. She’s happily showing me her magic tricks, with no one around to spoil the magic and say the trick is ‘stupid’. I suspect she doesn’t miss her sister much either.
When I’m trying to sleep at night, I worry about her. I wish I could call to make sure she’s all right, but of course in this case, no news is good news. But I still worry. Is it chilly at night? Does she have warm enough clothes? Is she drinking enough water (last year she got dehydrated at camp)? Wearing sunscreen and chapstick (last year her lips cracked and bled)? Is she eating (she’s underweight and last year lost 5 lbs at camp)?
And I can’t wait to see her in a few days. I can’t wait to hear her stories, listen to all the songs she’s learned, hear about all her adventures. I can’t wait to see her come off the bus, happy and smiling and missing me. I hope she has a new appreciation for home and family, for clean clothes and warm beds and sleeping in, but most of all for the people who love her. And I hope that appreciation lasts a little longer than the 20 minute ride home.