Hello Mudder, Hello Fadder

A week ago I dropped my child off at camp. She had been very excited about this camp for several months. The day before she was scheduled to leave, however, fear and doubt set in. She didn't know any of the other campers. She didn't know any of the teachers or counselors. She had never been to the university where it was being held before. The anticipation of the classes she'd be taking had fueled her enthusiasm for months, but in those twenty-four hours leading up to the actual drop-off more practical issues seeped their way into her consciousness.

She'd been to camps before, but she'd always gone with someone else. It wasn't the prospect of being away from us that concerned her - it was the prospect of being alone.

We drove to the university last week and got her set up in her dorm room. She had three roommates, one of whom had been there last year. The four of them went off exploring while the parents sat in the small room, waiting for opening ceremonies. Throughout said ceremony, she was on the verge of tears. I put my arm around her and she didn't shrug away from my embrace - which has been her MO of late. I pulled her close and she cried. Now she, not unlike her mom, is not a beautiful, single teardrop sort of crier. She is a full-face crier; red tear-stained face, eyes filled with panic.

This was what her face looked like when we left her with her counselor. I hugged her tight one last time, looking at her counselor over her shoulder as I did, trying to convey my message in a glance: "Please take care of her. Please keep her safe. Please make her happy."

As a teacher of young children, I had been on the receiving end of quite a few of those looks. In that same capacity, I knew that those kids were usually having a great time before their parents were out of the parking lot. I knew this. I said it aloud many many times on the ride home. My husband is a saint, actually, for not throwing me out of the car. It's possible that I was just a smidge annoying. I mentioned that I'm a full-face crier, too, right? Oh, yeah. There was nothing pretty about the ride home or the night that followed. My heart hurt. Not just my sentimental heart, either. I was having a visceral reaction to the memory of walking away while my baby was in tears.

It was a rough week for me.

They don't allow the campers to make phone calls - as is the rule at most camps - so that was the visual I carried with me. Thursday I got a note from her and a post card from her counselor and I breathed a little easier - but they might've just said she was happy to make me feel better. I breathed a little easier, but I remained wary.

When we arrived at camp yesterday for their Camp Review, other children were greeting their parents. I craned my neck looking for my daughter - people - parents and campers alike - were entering the auditorium in a steady stream - but where was my baby? The director took the stage. The Review was about to begin - still no sign of Liv. I may or may not have been silently weeping at this point. You'll never know, on accounta it was silent. And I'm very good at masking my emotions. Lady Gaga's poker face has nothing on ma-ma-ma-mine. Tom knew, though, or at least had a suspicion, because I nudged him and said, "They lost her and were just too afraid to call me and let me know." He gave that the reaction it deserved. His week had been rough, too. Living with a mama bear who's been separated from her (crying!) cub is, I imagine, somewhat less than delightful.

And then she poked her head in. She was wearing zombie makeup. She searched the room and I waved, real cool-like. She returned my wave and kept searching. I wasn't who she'd been looking for. The punch in the gut of that realization was quickly forgotten, though, when I realized what it meant. She had friends. She was having fun. Wait. She was wearing zombie makeup?

The review began and we watched a chamber orchestra perform, followed by some improv, then a dance troop (S-S-S-S-A-A-A-A-F-F-F-F-E-E-E-E-T-T-T-T-Y-Y-Y-Y- Safety - Dance!) then a dramatic scene reading. I squirmed in my seat, unable to get comfortable. This may have been the natural result of spending a week not breathing with a sore heart. We want zombies! We want zombies! (That's what I wanted to chant, but I didn't because I have a lot of restraint.) Finally - zombies came on to the stage and fell into excellent fallen zombie poses. Someone hit play on the boom box. It's close to midnight - and something evil's lurking in the dark... the zombies, including my little zombie - my beautiful little zombie - fell into a step for step perfect (in this mama bears completely unbiased opinion) rendition of the Thriller dance. Who would've thought it would be zombies that brought me back to life?

On the way back to her dorm to pack up she chattered incessantly about her classes and her friends. She'd had a ball. She couldn't wait to come back next year. She wanted to go to college here - this campus was the best place EVER! She missed us, and her dog, and her rat, and her bed - but she didn't want to leave her friends or her classes or her dorm. She didn't take a break in conversation as she hit the button on the traffic light for a walk signal. We are suburban folk. A week ago she'd known nothing of waiting for signals to cross the street... She casually pointed out the buildings where her classes were, using the shortened nicknames of a seasoned student for most of them.

This was not the crying child I'd left behind five short days earlier.

This was a confident, happy, excited young lady.

I barely recognize her, but I think I'm gonna like her a lot.