Yesterday, I flew the girls back to New Jersey and put them on the camp bus. They’ll be at Independent Lake Camp somewhere in the Poconos for the next two weeks. I’m really excited for them. I think this will be one of those experiences they’ll look back on years from now with fondness. At least I hope so, because at times, it’s been a rocky road.

It all started back in January when I started thinking about what kind of experience I could find that would offer something more expansive than the regular day camps they attend each summer. Don’t get me wrong. Soccer and volleyball camps are fine, but there’s a whole world out there to experience. I wanted to find something that would broaden their world view, something that would challenge them in ways they wouldn’t be challenged if they hung around here all summer. So I started poking around and with the help of this camp consultant who calls herself, “The Summer Lady,” I found Independent Lake Camp.

The problem was, at first, the girls didn’t want to go. After watching the DVD, H was the first one to give the place a thumbs down. I could understand her position. Two years ago, she went to a camp near Lake Tahoe for a week and had a so-so time. She went by herself, hoping to make new friends, but all the other girls in her cabin were from the same suburban neighborhood. I knew it was going to be a bad situation the minute I walked into the cabin and I heard the desperate housewife looking mothers talking. But what could I do? We were committed. So I gave H the best pep talk I could think of, reminded her that it was only a week, and gave her a huge hug. But I knew in my gut it wasn’t going to be the experience she or I had hoped for. H survived the week, but the experience killed any interest she had in sleep away camp. So I knew I was taking a huge chance signing her up again. C actually liked what she saw on the DVD, but objected in an act of solidarity. If H wasn’t going, neither was she.

My big mistake this time was that after watching the DVD and getting the thumbs down, I had a ten-day-long conversation during which I decided this was the perfect camp for the girls. After all, this camp’s motto was “celebrating human diversity.” They pulled kids from up and down the East Coast as well as from Europe and Mexico. The video shows all these kids laughing and waving at the camera, saying things like, “Bon jour. I’m Gabrielle. I’m from France!” or “Hola, I’m Hector. I’m from Mexico City!” Oh my God! It was like the a tour through “It’s a Small World.” How could the NOT love this place? So I called the director and got the names of some camp families, hoping they’d share their kids’ experiences. The first mom I spoke with had great things to say and put me on the phone with her oldest son who’s gone to the camp ever year for the last five years. Then I talked with another mom for forty-five minutes and she raved about the place. Literally, didn’t have a bad thing to say. She told me her girls, who happened to be the exact same ages as mine, loved ILC so much they were going for FIVE WEEKS! By the time we hung up the phone, we’d exchanged numbers and addresses and agreed that our kids would be pen pals. After talking with those parents and imagining how much fun my girls would have, how independent and self reliant they’d become, I sent in the deposit.

The problem was, I had this ten-day long conversation with myself. I totally forgot to tell the girls what I was thinking. I know that sounds crazy, but hasn’t that ever happened to you? Haven’t you ever thought and though about something for so long and so intensely that you’d swear you’d spoken the words out loud? Well, that’s what happened to me. I got so lost in my thoughts about how great an experience it would be, based on my conversations with those parents, that I completely forgot to tell the girls.

So you can imagine my shock and horror when H came to me and said, “Hey Mom, this wierd girl called this weekend talking how much fun we’re going to have at some sleep away camp this summer.”

When I tell you, I felt like I’d walked into a fire storm, I’m not kidding. Man, did my girls let me have it.

H (tears streaming down her face): “How could you do this to us?! We said we didn’t want to go! I HATED THE LAST SLEEP AWAY CAMP!!!!”

C (taking cues from her big sister): “Yeah, you didn’t even ask us. You’ve violated our civil rights!”

The tears, the pleading, the flailing arms. My girls aren’t prone to tantrums. I don’t think either one of them has ever exploded in anger or talked back. But this was bad. REALLY REALLY BAD. And you know what? They were right. I had ignored their initial protests. I had made the decision without their input. All I could do was let them rant and then apologize for what I’d done. And then, something came over me and I saw my way through. I realized that I’d made the decision because I loved them so much and because I was excited about the possibility that they’d have an experience they’d remember for the rest of their lives. I’d made the decision because as their mother, I could see how rich and wonderful and challenging and interesting two weeks away, with kids they might not otherwise meet, would expand their horizons, opens their eyes. I could see, as the adult, how they might be inspired. And that’s what I told them. As I did, I could see their faces soften and their bodies relax because they could see that while it was a mistake, it was a mistake made out of love for them. After a few minutes, H wiped her eyes and said she’d try it.

In the months that followed, the girls got pretty excited.  I made up two huge care packages filled with baked goods and book and special surprises, and mailed it on Saturday, so they’d get it by Tuesday. We spent all last week packing, and imagining the friends they’d make.  Then all of a sudden, it was time to say goodbye.

So now it’s Monday night and I haven’t heard from them, which I’m guessing, means they’ve settled in and are having fun.  PHEW!

It’s weird to think that after all the initial drama and all the months of pep talks and preparation, it’s actually happening. It’s a strange to have spent so much time dreaming about an experience that, in the end, I won’t be a part of. I’ve planned and now it’s time to let go and allow the girls to make Independent Lake Camp their own.

Earlier this week, I took the girls for their hair appointment at Urban Roots. I’m happy to report that they enjoyed the whole experience. They loved leaning back into the shampoo bowl while Lisa messaged all sorts of fruity smelling shampoos and conditioners into their hair. She even trimmed their ends–something I’ve never done before. All I thought as I sat there watching Lisa work was, “thank God someone else is doing this.” It was worth every penny. So it seems we’re part of the natural curly hair movement.

After we left Lisa at Urban Roots, we went to Madusalon, a hair salon owned by a black woman from Paris, to buy some of the products Lisa had recommended. I wish you’d been there. Curly heads, dreads and twists were EVERYWHERE! If I didn’t love my short hair so much, I’d go for a new look.