Yesterday instead of driving to school I took my 6-year-old to her first day of camp.
I had worried and fretted for weeks, wondering if I was cramming too much activity into what was supposed to be a low key, relaxing time. In my mind my childhood summers were full of barefoot games played in neighboring backyards. Time took on a nebulous quality, the endless fun only punctuated by hasty meals eaten outdoors, topped off with drippy watermelon.
Instead of all that downtime my daughter would get a short weekend between the end of school and the start of camp.
All my worries vanished in a puff when we pulled up to the curb and I saw the campers milling around all the fun laid out for them. Air cannons, jumping castle, pottery — and that’s just what we could see from the car!
This morning when I dropped her off a petting zoo was waiting for my little camper. She scampered off to pet the llama and I drove away with a smile on my face.
Her summer will be very different from my childhood summers, but I’m confident her memories will be as sweet.