Amateur Hour

Tomorrow is Lu's first day of Camp. Capital C camp, Rocky River Ranch, sacred space, most formative place of my youth. You know, no big. She is excited and nervous. I am excited and nervous. We acted out the little melodrama of our shared nerves over another vigorous argument about whether or not vampires are real (damn you, Twilight and your hold on the zeitgeist).

She is asleep with a head of garlic under her pillow. As I gave it to her, I said, "Vampires are just in stories, and as we've discussed, they are not real. But people in stories with vampires think garlic keeps them away, so if it helps you use your imagination to feel better, then here's some garlic." Oh, and I climbed onto her bed (breaking the weight limit by about 80 pounds) to lie with her for a while (breaking every bedtime rule we've ever had).

Amateur hour. That's what Sugawa calls it when I show my weakness as a parent. So be it. When you are packing a suitcase for your child that SHE COULD FIT IN HERSELF, you are struck by her tininess, her unreadiness to go have a five-day-long life experience apart from the person who pushed her into being. And you are willing to sink below the pro-am level to soothe her the night before this happens.

I have had some pretty frantic correspondence with Liz, who always makes me feel better, and is the only person who can rescue my tiny girl from vampires, floods, homesickness and other scary stuff at camp. It's going to be okay, I think.