Finally got my nerve up, and sent the children to one of those sleep away camps.
"Pack your bags, grab a pillow. Remember your hiking boots! You kids are going to camp this summer."
Honestly, I am one of those selfish mothers, and I cannot bear to be parted from my children. I like to have them in earshot. I want to watch movies with them, and splash in cold, decaying swimming pools with them. I enjoy seeing them scramble eggs for dinner, and hearing them read aloud, by flashlight. It wouldn't be summer if we weren't home, spitting watermelon seeds, then chasing each other with high powered assault water weapons. Friends come by, and we make our projects. We live, happily, yet with the dread of that unspoken day, looming, encroaching... the last day of summer. And so, I hoard the minutes and days, when I do not have to be parted from these children of ours, when we can toil together, or abandon duties, play and laugh.
But I know... there are traditions, and quintessential experiences of summer that they should not be denied. Camp. Summer camp, leaving home, facing unknown challenges, climbing obstacles, meeting new people, learning new songs. And it's right that I should facilitate opportunities for our children to know some of these rites of passage. And that is why I consented, and sent the children away...
Go! Go, children! Be free! Camp! Take only what is essential, follow a road less traveled, and if you get the chance, write home... let us know you are well. We will miss you.