The Year of Living Hopefully

“I used to do that, too!” said the new camp director, Tiny. “I’d stay up all night downloading music for film the night before camp.”

That’s the response I got when I announced, at camp drop off, that I thought Maddie probably spent more time preparing for camp than any camper in the history of camp.

An all nighter? I thought. Haha! Amateur!

Maddie had been preparing for months. Two trips to Party City, an order or two from Amazon, a couple trips to the local hardware store were just the beginning.

Then there was an assembly line. She was adding more tee shirts to her LARPing supplies, first printing out images of the icons for each team, covering them with red duct tape, and then cutting them out, adding velcro and attaching them to the shirts. I think there were fifteen total in this round of shirt making. It was a surprisingly efficient enterprise, and that’s coming from someone who considers herself a master of efficiency. Maddie even, to my surprise, gathered up the extra paper to toss the in trash when she was done.

She had also bought additional costumes—all with her own money—for leaders of the LARPing teams. Last camp session the LARPing became “Crusades,” and it was a huge hit. Maddie has basked in the glory of her success since winter session all the while thinking about how to make the experience even better.

She had asked if I would drive her to camp, rather than take the bus, because she was worried about the amount of luggage she would be bringing. And it was indeed a lot—a large suitcase full of clothes and an extra large suitcase full of crusading gear and other costumes (including the Star Wars costume, now appropriate because she had emailed the director and requested a Star Wars theme day). Plus a messenger bag full of duct tape. Always duct tape because you never know when that will come in handy!

I would have loved to drive her the two hours (each way) to camp. We always enjoy car rides together (lots of singing!). But I recently came to the conclusion that long car trips and I are not friends. Usually by the end of a multi-hour drive, I’m left with a migraine. And when I get one of those, it’s usually here to stay for days if not weeks or even months. So I asked the camp director if an extra, enormous piece of luggage would be OK on the bus. “We’ll find room,” he said.

The morning of camp, she was ready on time (yay!) and we packed up the car for the 30-minute drive to the pick-up location. It’s always a special time, when old friends from camp, counselors, and new campers mingle. Everyone is excited. Camp truly begins at that moment, which is also partly when I preferred she take the bus.

And then, as we unloaded all her gear from the trunk: “Shiiiiiiiit.”

“What?”

“I forgot the flags.” Her body slumped.

The flags are probably six feet in length, carefully and thoughtfully made with duct tape last winter for the inaugural camp Crusades. She had also spent several hours the day before perfecting the contraption she made to hold those flags by adding a body-strap to keep the whole from falling over on her back. She was so proud of that thing. And there was no way I was going to leave that stuff at home.

“Don’t worry,” I said immediately. “I will get them to you tomorrow. I promise.”

So much for not driving to camp!

Fortunately, I wouldn’t have to make the round trip in a day. There was already a plan in place for my sister to pick me up and take me to her house (200-plus miles south) for a birthday weekend in her area. That four-hour trip is of the migraine-inducing variety, so she had planned to do all the driving. Camp was sort of on the way. But her car is tiny and those flags are long, so I would have to put them in my car and take them to camp anyway. I could avoid the round trip and make my sister’s drive easier, though, in one fell swoop. I would drive to camp, deliver the flags, and my sister would meet me there and take me the rest of the way. I arranged to leave my car at the camp for a few days and retrieve it after my getaway.

After some discussion with my sister, we agreed that waiting until the next day wouldn’t work, so I drove home, threw some clothes in a bag, grabbed the flag, and off I went to camp. Spontaneous road trip!

After days of fun with my sister (Wine-tasting! Whale watching!) I returned to camp to retrieve my car. It was a hot afternoon and everyone seemed to be inside somewhere. I wanted to say hello to Maddie (which I was unable to do when I dropped off her flags), but I also know there’s a reason why campers and parents can only communicate by mail during camp. Any emotions bubbling up can suddenly become unbearable when a homesick or stressed out kids sees her parents. So, relieved, I hopped in the car and began to drive. But before I got out of the parking lot, though, I noticed a piece of paper under my windshield wiper.

Oh no, I thought. Somebody didn’t like my car parked there for days.

I stopped and grabbed the paper.  It was dated that morning.

“Hi Mom,

It’s your daughter, Maddie. Can you please come find me and talk? It might just be hormones, but I need to talk to you.

Love,

Maddie”

Oh crap. Now what do I do?

I was so torn. What if she was now just fine and seeing my face takes her right back to wherever she was when she wrote the note? Or what if she was indeed struggling? I’m really not supposed to be visiting camp, but there I was with that note.

So I got out of the car and begin cruising camp looking for somebody. Anybody. Much to my relief, after maybe five minutes of looking, I hadn’t spotted a single soul. I had tried—although not particularly hard—and failed. I had made the effort, and I could honestly say I had. And I returned to my car and drove home, feeling equally guilty and relieved.

When I got home, I emailed the camp director. I wanted Maddie to know I had found her note and looked for her (Mom points!). I wanted her to know I figured she was having a great time (no worries, Madz!).

He emailed later that night. He would have somebody check in with her, tell her I had found her note, and make sure she was OK. But by all accounts, she was having a great time.

She’s at camp for a total of twenty-four days this summer. In a row. There is a four-day break between the ten-days sessions, but a few kids stay for sort of camp “lite” and she elected to do that rather than come home for a few days. She would miss out on resting, but she also recognized it’s harder for her to reboot and get going again once she’s home.

It has now been eight days since she boarded the bus. I know in my heart she is having the time of her life. When I tell people about it, they often say, “So she really loves that camp!”

“Uh, I don’t think there is a word to describe how she feels about it,” I answer. “Love” doesn’t seem to fully encompass what she experiences there. It’s fun, for one thing. But more than that, this is a place where she is fully and completely expressing herself and everybody freakin’ loves it. She brings her costumes and they incorporate her characters into whatever campfire skits they’re doing or whatever story they’re telling in film workshop. She leads the crusades. She decorates the crap out of her cabin. She creates theme days. She yells and sings during campfire. She camps to the max.

So now that the flags are in place, and I haven’t heard anything else from camp, I can relax and know, and I mean know, that Maddie is in her element. She’s truly living at that camp.

And next time we’ll remember the flags.