I didn’t sleep well last night. But my tossing and turning was not due to the typical worries of tomorrow – instead, my restlessness was a result of my oldest son being at summer camp for the first time.

Is he too hot? Is he too cold? What if he falls out of the top bunk he insisted on? Will the kids be mean? Did I pack the right stuff? Will he be homesick? Will he get a parasite from all of the lake water he swallows?

I prayed, meditated, read, and finally resorted to watching late night TV (at three o’clock in the morning, three easy risk-free payments for a fat burner guaranteed to melt the pounds seemed almost worth a try!).

I finally managed to dose off for two quick hours of uninterrupted sleep. The morning came along with welcomed perspective and I feel less anxious about my little boy. Summer Camp is a rite of passage that many of us survived – some better than others. I remember crying and wailing before going to camp. However, it ended up being one of the best experiences of my life. But more than the outdoor activities and arts and crafts, what I remember most about my camp experience were the friends I made, the boys I had crushes on, and the care packages from home.

I frankly don’t know why I worry. During a recent conversation he said, “I bet it will be like when I started kindergarten. You were the one crying, not me!” You know what, he was right! I had to stand behind a bunk bed and say my goodbyes so he wouldn’t see my tears.

As we drove away, my husband teased, “I bet some cute little seven-year-old from the girls’ cabin will keep him from being homesick!” I glared at him but then thought about the care packages I sent. You see, no one is going to take Mom’s place as his Favorite Female if I have anything to say about it. I’ll let Twix and Cheetos do most of the talking.

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