Turning 8 years old in my family was to be celebrated. Way past what psychologists refer to as the 'age of reasoning', they were now allowed to do things a little differently than when they were age seven. This was especially meaningful for the last three of my children, who were born one year after the other.
Eight years old meant they were allowed to stay up a little later than their siblings, hang out with their older brother who was 12 and watch Knightrider on Tuesday nights. But crossing this threshold also meant they were assigned different chores. Already responsible for making their bed by aged four, the graduation to 'kid' from 'little kid' was monumental. Now they had to bring their laundry to the laundry room, help set the table and clear it after dinner. They did it without arguing or pressure, and seemed to like being part of the routine of running a household full of people.
The most impressive upgrade in their young lives was the ability to go to summer camp - two weeks in August at the YMCA summer program. After passing the swimming tests (at the Y where they had taken lessons the year before) they timidly stuck one toe into a world without Mom and venturing off on their own for a while.
They watched each other year after year leave the cocoon of the mini van, complete with a duffel bag full of clean shorts and bathing suits, knapsacks with army men and pieces of home. Memories of the older ahead of them who had stories galore to share were at the forefront. Excitement mixed with terror, they could not wait until it was their turn. Over a small sunburned shoulder, they looked at me one more time for confirmation, is this really ok?, and I smiled with a tinge of sadness, yes it really is, as they dash off to find their bunk in a cabin assigned to them.
As the summers passed and they grew older and stronger, there was no longer the tearful looks exchanged as they left the nest for new adventures. It was now so very uncool to miss Mom and Dad, and I barely got a note more than two lines long. I knew this was how it was supposed to be, but was saddened anyway.
Years have flown by and they have all left the nest and created memories of their own and each other, reminisceing fondly about Summer camp and their adventures they shared. I hug myself inside as I sit and watch them as they talk about sending their children to summer camp when they are ready.
Leaving town for various work functions, my beloved and I have finally found the right kind of summer camp for our boys, three labs aged 3, 4 and 6. A lovely kennel run by the woman we call "Grandma" they jump excitedly into the back of the car, complete with their own knapsacks filled with treats and toys, and memories of home.
They are tearful as they look over their shoulders to make sure it is really ok to leave us, and we smile with a touch of sadness as we confirm to them and say "yes, it really is ok."
Everything is as it should be.
Eight years old meant they were allowed to stay up a little later than their siblings, hang out with their older brother who was 12 and watch Knightrider on Tuesday nights. But crossing this threshold also meant they were assigned different chores. Already responsible for making their bed by aged four, the graduation to 'kid' from 'little kid' was monumental. Now they had to bring their laundry to the laundry room, help set the table and clear it after dinner. They did it without arguing or pressure, and seemed to like being part of the routine of running a household full of people.
The most impressive upgrade in their young lives was the ability to go to summer camp - two weeks in August at the YMCA summer program. After passing the swimming tests (at the Y where they had taken lessons the year before) they timidly stuck one toe into a world without Mom and venturing off on their own for a while.
They watched each other year after year leave the cocoon of the mini van, complete with a duffel bag full of clean shorts and bathing suits, knapsacks with army men and pieces of home. Memories of the older ahead of them who had stories galore to share were at the forefront. Excitement mixed with terror, they could not wait until it was their turn. Over a small sunburned shoulder, they looked at me one more time for confirmation, is this really ok?, and I smiled with a tinge of sadness, yes it really is, as they dash off to find their bunk in a cabin assigned to them.As the summers passed and they grew older and stronger, there was no longer the tearful looks exchanged as they left the nest for new adventures. It was now so very uncool to miss Mom and Dad, and I barely got a note more than two lines long. I knew this was how it was supposed to be, but was saddened anyway.
Years have flown by and they have all left the nest and created memories of their own and each other, reminisceing fondly about Summer camp and their adventures they shared. I hug myself inside as I sit and watch them as they talk about sending their children to summer camp when they are ready.
Leaving town for various work functions, my beloved and I have finally found the right kind of summer camp for our boys, three labs aged 3, 4 and 6. A lovely kennel run by the woman we call "Grandma" they jump excitedly into the back of the car, complete with their own knapsacks filled with treats and toys, and memories of home.
They are tearful as they look over their shoulders to make sure it is really ok to leave us, and we smile with a touch of sadness as we confirm to them and say "yes, it really is ok."
Everything is as it should be.
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