The counselors had done an impressive job decorating. A pink, yellow, green, or blue construction paper flower with a girl’s name in the center hung over each bunk. The beds were made with the colorful linens and stuffed animals the parents had sent ahead. With a lot of work, the dreary cabins had been transformed into warm, cozy summer homes for the campers.
When my walk-through was done and had thankfully passed muster, I headed to the office to see if there were any last-minute phone calls from parents. Jack was walking out of the office, and our eyes met.
“Hey, Lori, I see you have your radio with you. Good girl,” Jack said.
Good girl? What would he say if I called him a good boy?
“Yes, you’ve taught me to carry it with me wherever I go. But just so we understand each other.” I probably should have shut up right then. “I will not be taking it with me in the shower.”
I could tell he wasn’t sure if I was serious or not.
“No one expects you to take the radio with you in the shower.”
“That’s a relief.”
“You’re funny. I’ll have to remember that. Did you have your walk-through? I hope you’re ready for the campers’ arrival,” Jack said.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Frisbees were being thrown, footballs tossed, and Hula-Hoops whirled around limber bodies as I approached the soccer field. The nervous energy translated into laughing, hugging, and playing ball. And the kids weren’t even here yet. The feeling of friendship and community was palpable. The past week had not only taught us what we needed to know about working with children—we had also become a team.
When the first buses arrived, the counselors went berserk, jumping, waving, and running alongside, trying to make out the campers’ faces through the tinted windows. I smiled as the bus door opened and Di, who was volunteered to chaperone, climbed down the stairs.
“I have a busload of excited campers here from New York City!”
Girls started bounding out the door. Zelda and Hazel appeared in the doorway with their Woodlands knapsacks slung over their shoulders. They had spent the past week with Ronnie’s parents. Their grandmother had probably been the one who pulled their hair into tight ponytails and put them on the bus. They wore the camp uniforms that I had painstakingly sewn their name tags into. They looked a little stunned, but otherwise they seemed to have managed fine being away from me. I hadn’t realized how much I missed them until I saw them. Between my busy schedule, no cell service, and their running around withtheir grandparents, we only got to speak twice. I ran to them, needing a hug.
Hazel was visibly happy to see me and jumped into my outstretched arms. Zelda smiled at first but then became reserved—probably thinking,I can’t believe my mother is actually here. Whatever was going through her mind, I didn’t care. I squished her into me, telling her that I loved her.
Bethany broke up our reunion and handed Zelda and Hazel over to their respective counselors.
When they were out of earshot, Bethany told me, “Remember, at camp you’re not their mother. You’re Lori, the DL for the Cubs.”
I couldn’t argue with her. It had been made clear that my children were not supposed to receive extra attention from me because it would be unfair to the other campers.
“I know, but I couldn’t help myself from getting a quick cuddle.”
I suspected Abby would do the same with her kids.
After all the campers arrived, I walked under the Camp Woodlands sign and onto the path that led to the bunks. I took a deep breath before I walked up the six steps to the porch of the first cabin. I was exhilarated and exhausted; I had a sneaking suspicion that would be my state of consciousness for the next eight weeks. I was surprised how difficult it was to catch my breath when I reached the top of the steep wooden stairs. I didn’t think I was in such bad shape until it dawned on me—I better watch it with the cigarettes.
I knocked on the door and was relieved to see smiling faces as I entered. There were girls sitting on their beds holding stuffed animals, girls going through their closets, girls hanging around the counselors. There were so many of them.
As soon as they understood that I was their camp mom, they all needed a piece of me and I was bombarded with questions.After a full week of orientation, I still didn’t have all the answers. I fudged my way through each cabin with a new catchphrase: “I can’t wait until we learn about that together.”
After tucking the campers in bed that night, I went to Mindy’s room, our after-hours hangout. Drink in hand, Bethany congratulated me and Abby on our first ever tuck-in, saying, “Let’s see how well you do when homesickness kicks in. Probably not tomorrow but by the third night, that’s when the reality of being away from their parents sets in.”
As I sipped my wine, a sense of relief washed over me—my first day with campers was over. I felt good but depleted. I left early and was tying my shoelaces when Bob and Ted walked up the stairs.
“Leaving already?” Ted asked.
“What can I say, I’m a lightweight.”
“I hope your first day went well,” he said.
I smiled. “It did, thanks for asking.”
“Quick, close the door, no bugs,” Mindy yelled when Bob opened it.
