camp

Ninety Percent Happy – A Camp Debrief

Chris Irvine, Parent Coach1 Comment

Today was camp pick-up day. After 24 days without Maddie, it was time for the family to reunite. Or at least three of us. My teenage son thought those three and a half weeks went by a little too quickly. “Does she get back next weekend?” he had asked. “No, tomorrow,” I clarified, and disappointment washed over his face.

Part of me didn’t want to do the pick-up simply because of the drive. I had recruited my husband to make the trek because of my hate-affair with long car trips, but since we could at least share the driving, I decided I couldn’t miss out. An excellent choice on my behalf as it turned out.

Pick-up day at this particular camp is also performance day. After having lunch together with the campers, parents can see what their kids have been working on for the last ten days. I always go to performances or games or whatever my kids are up to (and sometimes just to see their friends). I LIVE for this stuff. But the last few times Maddie went to camp she participated in workshops that didn’t end in a performance, so I wasn’t expecting to see her do anything this time. Typically we would have lunch and then listen to a brief talk by the camp director, then grab her luggage and split. So really the only reason to go would be to to give her a giant hug and dip my toe in the camp experience before summer was over and see her happy face.

I knew for sure she’d be happy. For one thing, camp is the highlight of her year. ALWAYS. Second, I was actually able to speak to her half way through. Campers can’t have phones, but Maddie stayed for a four-day between-session mini-sorta-camp thing and during that time was able to use a counselor’s phone.

I received this text:

“Hey, it’s Maddie, your daughter. Could you call me on this phone? Anytime.”

And then, before I could respond:

“Can you send me some stuff? My Bose speaker and the power cord. And my SIM card. And can you go on Amazon and order some Liquid Ass and send it here?”

I called her shortly thereafter. She was in good spirits, partly because she was in a bowling alley at the Santa Cruz Boardwalk at the time. She sounded happy and relaxed.

“Can you also send me a banana suit?” she asked.

“Did you say ‘banana suit’?”

“Yup.”

“Sure.”

After a brief conversation about camp, I handed the phone to my husband so he could chat with her, and brought up Amazon.com on my computer to order Liquid Ass and a banana suit.

I wrote a note to my husband, who was still on the phone with Maddie: “Ask her if it’s the fart spray.” Eventually he nodded and gave me a thumbs up. I placed the order as if it were for toilet paper and toothpaste. It did occur to me that perhaps a “for what?” might have been in order, but it hadn’t crossed my mind to ask until it was too late. Maddie gets ideas and she makes plans and sometimes they involved fart spray and a banana suit. Business as usual at our house!

So two weeks later, there we were to retrieve our happy camper. We hugged a giant, long bear hug. I noticed her hair was clean and brushed and I was so happy about that. Even if that was the only shower she had taken (although I was sure it wasn’t), at least she had the foresight to be clean for the parents. We had some surprisingly delicious barbecued chicken and grilled vegetables for lunch. Maddie had already eaten a turkey sandwich. A TURKEY SANDWICH. Mind. Blown. She likes turkey and she likes cheese and she likes bread, but she has never ever eaten a sandwich. Whenever meals weren’t to her liking, she asked the kitchen staff for a sandwich. A SANDWICH.

After the campers and staff gave an enthusiastic performance of this year’s theme song,* it was time for performances.

“Are you in anything?” I asked, expecting the answer to be, “No. Let’s go home. I’m tired.” But instead the answer was, “Yes, rock band and film.”

Alrighty then, we would be staying longer. We converged in the dining hall/performance room and first watched dance and  musical theater. But the big star of the camp is rock band. Probably half the camp participated in that workshop. The first act got on stage and Maddie was nowhere to be seen. It was a full rock band (maybe five instruments) and two singers. Maybe she comes in during the middle, I thought, and shakes a tambourine or something. But nope, the song was over and another group took the stage. Different kids, different song, but pretty much the same setup. Still no Maddie. By the third song, I was starting to wonder, and then she stepped up with a microphone in hand. The band got set up and Maddie belted out “The Way You Make Me Feel” by Michael Jackson. All alone up there, with occasional backup from the rock band coach. She looked pretty natural on stage, moving her body and holding the mic with confidence. She sang from her belly and her heart. She wasn’t the best vocalist, but she was certainly among the most convicted. I was in awe. She just blows my mind sometimes. I was so proud of her and happy for her.

And then, unfortunately, I started to think. Maddie was the only solo act, and I knew it wasn’t because she was the best. I also noticed that half the band was camp staff, unlike the other groups. Ugh. The sadness started to mingle with the joy. Did nobody want to sing with her? Did the staff step in where campers wouldn’t? Is this the “special ed” performance?  Even at this magical camp, is she on the fringe (a word her kindergarten teacher once used to describe her)?

She sure looked happy up there, though. This is a kid who loves to belt it out, and she got it do it with a band. If any of my worries were rooted in truth, she didn’t seem to notice. I was mostly happy, and a little bit sad, and then a little more sad because I wasn’t 100% happy as I thought I should have been.

A couple more groups performed, and then the entire “mega band” took the stage for a rousing rendition of “Burning Down the House,” a suitable song for the band and for the moment. Each singer had a few solo lines, and Maddie pulled hers off as well as anybody. Or at least I thought so.

Finally, it was time for film. Maddie’s film was a camp-ified version of Harry Potter with a few jabs at the Spiderman movie franchises. She had come prepared, somewhat unknowingly, with her sorceress costume, and ended up with a relatively big role. It was clever, funny, and well-edited. Whent the film ended, Maddie said her goodbyes, and I signed her up for next winter and summer.

And then it was time to pack up and go home, my heart full of gratitude for the camp, joy for the experience my kid gets to have, and yet a little conflicted inside.

But before we could actually embark on our two-hour return trek, there was a stop to be made, for in the tiny mountain town near the camp, there is, of all things, a costume store. There are maybe 15 businesses in that little strip of downtown, so the presence of a costume shop was more than surprising. Maddie directed us where to park, and we walked a half a block to the store. She had her eye on something from a visit during the in-between-camps excursions, but she hadn’t had enough money to buy it. It was a gold lame, pleated, wing-style cape of sorts. Of course her plan is to modify it somehow (that’s how she rolls) and give it some kind of flame effect at the bottom. And then she saw some lights for costumes and a plan was born.

Aggie, the proprietor, remembered Maddie from her prior visit. She could see how important costuming is to Maddie and searched high and low for a red dress she had that might complement Maddie’s fiery vision.

“She can come work for me anytime she wants,” Aggie offered. I could tell she had Maddie pretty well figured out. She said she has other girls who work there about two hours per week.

My first thought was, of course, I wish the store was closer to our home. My second thought was, “Hmm. Maybe I could drive her down here once a week for a couple hours.” Part of me thinks that’s crazy. The other, more correct part, thinks it would be totally worth it.

We purchased Maddie’s carefully chosen items and, although Maddie wasn’t sure she was finished, I talked her into concluding her visit by promising to bring her back.

So now w’ere back at home and everything is back to normal. Or whatever normal is to us. I am bugging her to take a shower. I have a fussy eater to cook for again. I’m fretting about embarking on the new online school program, which is still rather nebulous in my mind. I’m suddenly back to my usual stressors. And I’m pretty bummed about that.

All my emotions are back. The pride, the fear, the joy, the worry, the amusement, the frustration. It’s all back in the swirling vortex of motherhood. I feel like my brain is literally spinning in my head.

Camp was good for all of us. Back to reality.

How to Be Awesome

Chris Irvine, Parent Coach3 Comments

Yesterday I picked Maddie up from the camp bus. She has gone to winter camp for three years, and as you may know, the planning for winter camp begins the moment she leaves summer camp. Summer camp ends with a rest and then plans for winter camp. Basically this kid lives for camp. If she could do anything full time, it would be camp. Camp, camp and more camp. Thank goodness for camp! Have I mentioned she likes camp?

The first time she went to sleep-away camp, I was a nervous wreck the entire week. Instead of relaxing and enjoying having only one kid for a few days (it is SO MUCH EASIER), I lay awake in bed chewing my nails wondering if she was she ok emotionally without her mom. Would she be lonely, could she make friends? Would the kids be nice to her?  Did she need to call home? What if she got sick? Can she eat the food? What if she’s sad???

And then on pickup day I discovered what a magical place this camp was, and the only time I worried again was her first winter camp when it very suddenly became freezing for exactly the days she was there. I ordered wool socks from Amazon and overnighted them to camp. She thought it was weird. But I was glad I did it.

This session, though, I was a tiny bit worried. She had put so much effort into preparing something and I was afraid her heart would be broken.

Maddie’s current obsession (and I do not use that term lightly) is a video game called Assassin’s Creed. I don’t play video games at all, but I have seen enough of this game to understand its appeal. It takes place in various historical periods, and the visuals and costumes (HELLO COSTUMES!) are magnificent. She and my husband have declared Assassin’s Creed “their” game recently, and that’s how they connect. And his big gift to her this Christmas was an elaborate costume of the hero from the middle ages.

A few months ago, Maddie had an idea for camp. (Hey, thinking ahead!) Each cabin is charged with naming itself and creating a cheer. This is a creative bunch, given that it’s a performing and visual arts camp, so they always come up with something inspired. And inspired Maddie was. She wanted to name her cabin after one group in the video game and hope that the cabin of one of her guy friends would be their foe. In preparation, she bought 20 tee shirts, 10 black and 10 white. She made out of paper and duct tape (surprise!) emblems matching the groups and attached them with velcro. She made two incredible flags as well, again with the duct tape.

It was great to watch her pour her passion and creativity and time and effort into a project. I had nothing to do with it other than the requisite trip to Party City to get supplies. But all the while in the back of my head, I kept thinking this might not go as she planned. I didn’t want to dampen her spirits, but I also felt the need to prepare her for the possibility that the other kids aren’t so enthusiastic about Assassin’s Creed.

“I just don’t want it to ruin your camp experience if the kids don’t go for it,” I said. It hurt my heart to say it, but it was necessary.

“It won’t,” she replied. “I’ve gotten better at that.”

Well, indeed she has. And her self-awareness was startling and a bit of a relief.

All week I kept wondering how it was going. Perhaps her preparation would have been met with such appreciation that people would feel obligated to participate Or maybe there’s a whole teen cult of Assassin’s Creed among the drama set that I don’t know about.

Yesterday she arrived across the bay on the camp’s bus. When I drove up to retrieve her, she was already off the bus and waved me down. She looked great. Relatively clean, in her nice warm coat, hair in a pony tail, happy and relaxed.

After we threw our arms around each other for a long hug, a young lady introduced herself to me. “I’m Otter, Maddie’s counselor.” (All the counselors have nicknames, like Awkward and Sparkle and Tiny.) “We had a great week!” she said.

“Well, Maddie LIVES for camp,” I said.

“We know!” she said. Of course they know!

“She did a lot of preparation,” I said, stating the obvious.

“Yes, she did!” said Otter.

I turned to Maddie. “How did it go?”

“Well, it didn’t go like I expected. It turned out even better!”

I had been so afraid to ask her about the Assassin’s Creed thing, thinking perhaps if it had been a huge disappointment, that might not be her most desired topic of conversation. But now I had the opening to ask.

And this is how it went: The kids didn’t want to adopt her cabin themes. I didn’t ask for the details because it didn’t seem to matter. But what did matter is what came next. Instead of feeling rejected and disappointed, she decided to put all of her work to use in a different manner: She approached the camp director and suggested some LARPing (live action role playing). LARPing does involve costumes but it mostly involves particular types of battles and games. So she helped organize the whole thing and they rounded up pool noodles for weapons. There was a huge themed battle with those tee shirts and a big game of capture the flag with those great flags she made, and she got to not only enjoy all the fun but experience the rewards of her flexibility, creativity and leadership. I believe she felt positively heroic at that point. Apparently the LARPing was a huge success, and they all had Maddie to thank.

So she will begin preparing for next summer’s sessions. We’ll wash the shirts and she’ll make some more (a few kids kept theirs). And I suspect she’ll have some other ideas, as well, to help enhance the LARPing experience.

These moments are the glimmers—no, flashes!—of hope for the future. I don’t know what exactly Maddie will do, but what I do know is this: She is passionate and creative and flexible and she’s growing up and changing in all the best ways.

Winter Camp

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

It’s December 30th and Maddie is at winter camp. She loves this camp so much that as soon as she gets home she starts the countdown until next time. Last year was her first time doing the winter session, and after two years of balmy weather, a cold snap that particular week took us both by surprise a little bit. The whole time she was gone I worried that she would be warm enough. She managed, apparently, by wearing everything she could pile on. But she was cold.

It’s cold again this year, and although that didn’t come as a surprise, I didn’t help her pack that much because I wasn’t feeling well that day, so I have no idea if she packed gloves or a scarf. I know she has a down jacket, hats, and Uggs, though, so I think she’ll be OK. Still, I couldn’t help hunting down a pair of gloves and enclosing them in a box with some Cheetos, M&Ms, and glow sticks for New Year’s Eve. I hope she’s happy! Last year’s care package was a big pile of new wool socks. Not very exciting apparently, but I was in a panic about her survival, I guess, so I overnighted some directly from Amazon. I now imagine her delight at receiving a package followed by bewilderment upon seeing what was inside. Apparently the other kids got cookies and stuff. Oh, well. I try.

So today I’m thinking a lot about Maddie in her absence. I know she’s having fun. I hope she’s staying warm and dry. I hope she got her care package today and was delighted instead of deflated by the contents. I hug her in my mind. I tuck her in and kiss her at night. She’s not here, but I feel her anyway.

It’s pretty quiet around here. Mellow. Easy. Frankly either kid without the other is easier than both together, so I try to enjoy the quiet. I asked my son if he missed Maddie. I was joking. He just laughed. Fair enough.

But when Maddie is away, I really do miss her. I miss her in the sense that it’s weird for her not to be here, but I also miss her liveliness, her spirit, and her sense of humor. I imagine she’s yelling “CAMPFIRE!  I LOVE CAMPFIRE!” as loudly as she yelled, “I GOT A CAT BAG!” when she opened the cat-tapestry duffel bag my mom made for her Christmas gift. Oprah-style yelling. Or “HOLY bleep!” when she opened the box of maybe 60 rolls of duct tape I gave her, which, incidentally, she packed in her CAT BAG! to take to camp. It was so heavy that I sneaked a few rolls out before she left. She had to carry that thing quite a distance to her cabin. She didn’t care when she packed the bag, but she might have cared halfway to her destination when a heavy bag, a rolling suitcase, a sleeping bag, and her backpack might have suddenly become too much. Hopefully, though, she didn’t look in the bag and think, “Hey! Who took out that fourth roll of blue I packed?” I wouldn’t put it past her.

Last summer on the last day of camp, I showed up for the usual end-of-week celebration. In the first 30 minutes, at least two people asked Maddie for duct tape. She had come prepared, and she had now become The Girl with the Duct Tape. It’s nice to have a recognized role in society, isn’t it? Especially when it’s a helpful or meaningful one. I’m so glad she discovered the importance of duct tape! I imagine her at camp now, rolls of duct tape around her arms as far up as she can comfortably wear them, always at the ready for a repair or prop construction, feeling like a queen because she really matters. I love that thought.

As this cold and wintry week continues, and the year 2015 is wrapping up, I anticipate Maddie’s return with somewhat mixed feelings. It feels right to have her home. The dogs will attest to that: when the pack is together, all is right in the world.

But two days after she gets back, school starts again and so does the stress that comes with it. I know it’s coming. I’m thinking about that knowing now. Knowing. Maybe I can find an ironic sense of comfort in the knowing, even though I’d prefer the truth to be otherwise. I know what’s coming, though. I do. Perhaps I can relax into the knowing, the predictability, and just let it go. At least for a day. And let 2016 start off in the best way possible, with a lot of love and appreciation for my kids, and a mixture of optimism and acceptance for whatever is to come.

And a lifetime supply of duct tape.