Friday, July 15, 2016

Camp Pickup

The boys survived a week at Springhill Camp.  They even remained buddies with their friends.

I visited Chris (camp doctor) one night and witnessed the "crud wars" (aka teen mud fight).  It was like a car accident, I literally couldn't look away!

On my visit, I went for a run and had this lovely backdrop.

Collin received the bravery award from his counselors.

Collin's sweet counselors.  Bless their hearts for spending the week with seven year old boys.  

Connor received the leadership award.

Cooper was awarded the creativity award (Shockingly he didn't receive the cleanliness award as displayed by his shirt!).

Bless this counselor's heart for working with middle school boys.

Cooper's counselors may have earned saint status.

Cooper's cabin mates from the week.

Over the span of a week, I made the trek to Springhill Camp three times.  Sunday was drop-off.  Wednesday was pickup for Collin.  Today, I picked up the remaining boys.

It's roughly 90 miles to Springhill, which doesn't seem like a lot.  But when your ancient minivan's air condition suddenly goes kaboom, 90 miles can feel like eternity.  I kept reminding myself about the major problems going on in our world today.  In the grand scheme of life, whether a car has air conditioning cannot compare to those struggling with world peace.  But when my backside was adhered to the leather seats with a heavy layer of sweat and my shirt looked like I jumped into a pool, it was hard for me to meditate on my (seemingly) inconsequential problems.

When I arrived at Springhill for the last pick up.  I looked as if I had just ran a marathon.  My hair was matted to my neck with sweat.  Any makeup remnants melted away a few miles into our trip.

I located the boys right away.  I've learned a little parenting tip this week: When greeting the boys from camp, I have to play it cool.  As much as I want to pull them into a bearhug and kiss their foreheads while calling them mushy names, those gestures of affection will be returned with a scowl.  Outwardly I greeted them with a "what's up," while inwardly I was screaming, "There's mommy's little baby!"

When we finally arrived home tonight, I instructed the boys to drop their bags by the front door (unsure what "goodies" may have returned in their bags from camp).  When I opened the first bag, I instantly pined for a hazmat suit and a sturdy mask.  The stench that drifted from the bag was deadly.  

I gagged.

Connor replied, "What do you expect?  It's camp!"

In fact, I did expect it. 

I expected the piles of dirty clothes, the filthy kids, the funny stories, and the sad reality that a return to camp is 365 days away.

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