Spackle

It's the last day of camp today. The children leave this morning, and the staff leaves early tomorrow. Today's a day for shutting down, packing up and saying goodbye. It's really hard.

Getting to spend every summer in paradise is a good thing. For two months, I don't have to cook, clean up after others, or fold mountains of laundry. For two months, I'm given a kind of respect among my friends, my colleagues and my staff, that I don't necessarily receive anywhere else. For two months, I live in a place where it's totally acceptable to dance in the dining hall, to scoot around in crappy clothes and no make-up, to go out to a bar at 9:00 at night (my normal bedtime!), to giggle incessantly. I watch my children have the time of their lives, learning new skills and making lifelong memories. They're happy. I'm happy.

And now it's time to leave.

How can I?

I really have to recognize that it's the transition that's the hard part. Nine weeks ago, preparing to get here, was an arduous task. Labeling, packing, shopping. Nine weeks ago, I looked around my comfortable home, my quiet neighborhood, the simplicity of my life, and didn't want to give it up.

Nine weeks later, I feel the same way about the journey I'm about to make. A little unsure, a little sad. The task ahead is daunting, but I'll do it. Ten months from now, when it's time to pack up our life again, I'm sure to feel the same uncertainty. Then I get here, and never want to leave.

In the end, I have to be grateful to camp. It helps to define who I am. It fills a certain void in my normal life, a little like spackling the crevices and cracks in an old tired wall. And even though it's only for a precious few weeks, I wouldn't be the same without it.