Camp.
Calvin has done week-long day camps and one two-night camp with his own choir only a half hour away from home, but yesterday we left our baby boy at a camp three hours away from home, with nobody he knows, and we won't be back to get him for eleven days. Eleven. Days.
When we signed on for this back in the late winter, early spring, we were all really excited. It's a fine arts camp and Calvin is there studying bassoon with other band geeks from all over the state and beyond. He won two separate scholarships entirely on his own merit, and in late spring, early summer, we sent in the rest of the payment, filled out the paperwork, and ordered his uniform pieces. It was easy, it was exciting, and it was still oh so far away.
Last week, though, as we shopped for all the other little necessaries (I consider this practice for college prep), the imminence of the drop off date became a sharp reality. Oh sure, we were all still looking forward to it, but we wouldn't be human if we weren't also a little apprehensive, right? Calvin in particular was increasingly nervous so that he became ornery and defiant in everything we were doing. I finally sat him down and asked what we could do to make it better. We spent the next hour discussing worst case scenarios and, finding them not nearly as awful as he'd perhaps been imagining, he quickly warmed to the challenge of a week "on his own", and (almost) all that anxiety turned right back into excitement.
Then today was the day. We took him to his cabin first, then looked around camp with all the other families taking the afternoon to say goodbye. The leave taking was slightly harder than I imagined, but there were only a few tears, and I know we left a confident and eager boy in good hands for over a week of magical music and fun.
Now we wait for that letter from camp...
