This
morning my son went to camp. Apart from one notice earlier in the year, I
didn’t know anything about the camp. In fact, I’d completely forgotten until
Mother’s Day night when my mum came over for dinner and did her obligatory
inspection of kids’ rooms.
Luckily
her eagle-eyes picked up not one, but two notices in Master Eleven’s room that
he had omitted to share.
“I see
you have a camp this week,” she said when she emerged from his room with said
sheets of paper.
“When’s
that?” I asked, wide-eyed.
“Wednesday.”
I
looked at the wannabe-camper sheepishly loitering behind his nana.
“What
are these notices about?” I asked, grabbing them. “And why haven’t I seen them
until now?”
He
muttered something illegible about them being at his dad’s house and then
putting them in his bag at some point to bring to mine.
“I
remembered to get them out of my bag,” he pointed out.
Well
that’s something.
The
next morning, after realising he didn’t have a bus ticket, his school shorts
were in the wash and I’d written a note explaining that he’d left his school shoes
at his dad’s, who was in the middle of moving house so who knows where they
could be, I sat down to read the camp correspondence.
It
turns out this mystery camp wasn’t so much of a mystery at all and there had
probably been all kinds of notifications
regarding it - they just hadn’t made it home. It soon became apparent,
being a semi-winter camp, he would need quite a lot of gear, some of which we
didn’t have.
I
highlighted these items, and cheekily highlighted the word ‘baking’, and sent
it to his dad, who, as well, had never laid eyes on the lists. He rummaged
around in all the packed gear at his end and delivered them later that night,
minus the baking – well one could try.
There
was no time for baking, given the slack communication from one Master Eleven
so, in lieu of, he headed off with a bag of persimmons from our tree, sleeping
bag, pillow and packed bags. Stuck in traffic on the way into town he was
unusually quiet.
“What’s
wrong with you?” I asked.
“Nothing,
we’re just gonna be late.”
“Well
did you do anything to help that situation? Anyway, the bus won’t be leaving
straight away.”
“We’re
not going by bus – we’re getting rides.”
“Oh
great – so everyone else’s parents knew about this and were invited along –
just not yours?!”
Arriving
through the school gates, he was bombarded, as usual, by his friends.
“You’re
late!” they cried. “We thought you weren’t coming,” added a girl, who proceeded
to whisper something in his ear while looking at me.
“Are
you talking about me now?” I asked him later.
“No,
she just said ‘Your mum’s not that embarrassing.”
Oh I
see. My, how things have changed in the space of a few months and a new school.
 |
| He's a tad bigger but it looked something like this. |
Last year, there was such a big build-up to school camp and he was begging us all
year to come along. Well, If that was what this was all about then I’d better
live up to my reputation.
“Come
give your mum a goodbye hug,” I called putting my arms out.
I
chased him, pink-cheeked, around the school court yard for a bit, before giving
up and leaving him to it.
