Boys #1 and 2 are away at camp and I hope they are having as much fun as I am. Since they've been gone I've slept in until 8 or 9 every day, gone on a long walk with some friends, gone out to lunch several times, gone to a 3:00 movie with my mom, and have barely looked at my watch. I've sangria-ed and gossiped with friends. I've shopped and returned and shopped and returned. I read for a whole afternoon the other day. The other night I watched 3 episodes of Top Chef back to back to back. I don't have to be home by 3:00. I don't have to worry about anyone else's lunch. I don't have to think about who will eat what for dinner. It is fabulous. I am enjoying this freedom so much I am actually considering boarding school. For the boys, that is. Ok, not really. I am back in my old room at my parents' house for a couple of weeks. It's like the home that time forgot here. It's as if technology has skipped right over this house. My computer is tethered to a wall, my room has no TV and barely a lamp. The cordless phones that I bought them last summer sound terrible so I am once again using a phone with an actual cord!! It's like stepping back in time to my high school days. I'm still borrowing the car, asking politely for the keys. Only now they can't tell me what time to be home! Actually, the other day my dad called up and asked me if I needed the car! It only took a week to get him perfectly trained. This town's small downtown is quiet and not crowded. It's sort of like a Stephen King novel--the town without children--what happened to them? They are all in Wisconsin and Michigan and other places, frolicking happily in the woods and the lakes. The parents, meanwhile, are frolicking back at home or maybe at Nordstrom or on their own summer vacations. I see other mothers I know and we all have that same smile on our faces. I miss my boys--I love checking out the camp website for daily photos--but truthfully, it's kind of fun to have this short bit of time to myself.
It's so hard to keep up with trends. It's practically a full-time job. Plastic bags...out. Reusable canvas bags...in. Disposable paper plates.....out. Bamboo plates.....in. Red lips....out. Nude lips....in. Food....clothes.....it's all so complicated. I totally bypassed the tiramisu years, the half-caf, double shot, non-fat, sugar-free vanilla mocha venti latte breve stuff. I'm glad I don't drink coffee. The ordering seems so stressful-- fraught with so many decisions--that's why Diet Cherry Coke is so great. Simple, straightforward--no decisions--unless over ice with a straw counts. Then there are the clothes. Just a few years ago everything was solid colors. This year it's all about the print. I was sure black would always be the new black...until I (and the rest of the world) discovered chocolate brown. And then pink became the new black. I recently heard that the new black is........black. So hard to keep up. Even fruit goes in and out of style. Take pomegranates, for example. No really--take them. So mysterious, so difficult. Last year's fruit of the year. Oprah's talkin' pomtinis, pom (soooo cute, isn't it?) juice is filled with anti-oxidants. Surely a shot of vodka or two with it has multiple health benefits, too, right? One website even has the secret to getting the seeds out without having your kitchen look like you committed a murder in it. I know the secret. Do you? But this year the pomegranate has dropped out of sight. Yep--this year it's all about the fig. The fig is the new pomegranate. Figs are actually the new black. You heard it here first. I'm just waiting to hear Oprah gush about this fabulous new drink--the figtini. Then I'll know to be on the lookout for the new hot fruit. Maybe 2008 will be the comeback year for the ugli fruit. Or maybe it's the kiwi's turn. The ugli-tini or the kiwi-tini? It's all up for grabs.
Boy #1 and Boy #2 are going to overnight camp soon and I am very busy getting everything ready. This will be Boy #2's first summer away at camp and he is very excited. He is going for 4 weeks and Boy #1 is going for 8 weeks. They will be going to the same camp and are both counting the days til they get on the bus. I am busy washing, labeling, shopping, and trying to keep all the details buzzing around my brain straight. My lists have lists. Boy #2 needs a soap container and Boy #1 needs new cleats. I have to remember to send Boy #1's extra pair of glasses. I've already packed the squishy pillows and their Crocs. My friend in Chicago bought powdered Gatorade (to add to their water in their cute--I mean manly--Nalgene bottles) for each of them. It is waiting for me to pick it up at her house. People backpack for months in Europe with less stuff than is on the camp list. And I'm sure a lot of it will never be used. I'm sending band-aids, a nail clipper, bug bite stuff, water shirts, cute camp stationery, and more. I know, I know--they're boys--they won't appreciate (or use) most of it. I can't help myself though. If I can't be there to take care of them at least they'll have band-aids and Neosporin.
Boy #2 has already asked if he can go for 8 weeks. "No," I said. "But, Mom," chimed in Boy #1 helpfully, "he can stay. When you come up for Visitors' Weekend, just bring money." It's so simple, really. Why didn't I think of that?
The other day Mr. Minivan saw something that no man should ever see. He walked in on me putting on Spanx. If you're not familiar with this fabulous product let me just say that my grandmother would have called it a "girdle" but it is now known as a "body shaper." Somehow this teeny piece of cloth compresses parts of you in a mysterious and magical way. It removes all bumps and lumps--I'm not sure where they go--and transforms you into a smooth and sleek bombshell. Your dress suddenly fits better. You suddenly look better. But the process of putting one on is a little...shall we say....awkward. It involves a little jumping, a little tugging, some deep knee raises, and a little adjusting. I myself don't even like to witness it. I try not to look in the mirror as I'm putting on the Spanx. It's bad enough to look in the mirror when it's all the way on. I prefer to look after my dress is on. Sorry, Mr. M. Maybe next time the door is closed, you'll knock.