A long, strange journey

My little boy is back from camp and I'm glad to report that he had a great week and can't wait to go back next year. He also managed to return with all the clothes he left with PLUS someone else's beach towel (BONUS!). For a reason that completely escapes me, our family has always been a magnet for other people's beach towels.

The day started out rather bleak with the alarm blaring at us at 5:10 a.m. We were out the door by 5:40 thanks to my preparation ritual the previous night.

About a quarter of the way into the trip, I notified Neal that a stop at the next clean gas station would be neccessary in order to drain the ol' bladder. He promptly complied and treated himself to a coffee refill and a pair of cheap, non-descript black sunglasses. The sun was starting to creep into the sky and, per his usual habit, he forgot his shades in his other car. Well, God forbid he suffer any consequences for forgetting/losing his sunglasses yet again! Neal buys sunglasses at the same frequency that most people buy gum.

I was still a little ticked off at the notion of more sunglasses occupying space in my life when I realized that I too had forgotten something: the checklist naming the items I had packed into the suitcase so that I could verify the presence of every item that left the house with my son. It was one of those moments where I had to stop and think about how important it really is in the grand scheme of life that he not lose a pair of shorts. It wasn't worth the effort of worrying about. (Besides, if I stopped thinking about how in the world I managed to go off without the list, I might be able to recreate it in my head, right?)

I was mentally tallying his boxer shorts when we suddenly emerged into the Texas hill country. If you're not expecting it, it's possible to just glance out the passenger window and get a good bout of vertigo. What made it even more frightening was that Neal was driving like he was in a rented car. I was immediately thankful that he invested the $6.99 on substitute shades because I can't imagine him driving in that fashion while blinded by the sun. After incessant hyperventilating and squeals of anguish on my part, he let up on the accelerator a bit.

We finally arrived at camp at about 8:20 a.m. The outdoor amphitheatre was almost completely open in terms of seating so we grabbed seats on the aisle for easy exiting after the show. We were treated to pulsating music from the speakers behind us playing timeless hits such as "Peanut Butter Jelly Time", "Hot Buttered Popcorn" and "The Hamster Dance." It was almost as if the counselors were exacting their revenge on us for dumping our kids on them for a week. The music could not possibly have been more annoying. Then, as if someone had summoned Batman to handle the situation, a real song came on..."Don't Stop Believing" by Journey. There was a huge gasp of relief among the primarily Gen-X audience members as the opening chords radiated from the speakers. Some parents even started singing along.

Finally, the kids filed in and did their team cheers and songs. Awards were given and gratitude was the theme of the day. What I found completely unbelievable was the energy level of the counselors. They were jumping up and down like Jack Russell terriers on meth. I guess they were just that glad to see the parents.

After the closing ceremonies, the parents were filed into an auditorium for two hours (yes, two hours!) of diabetes updates. The doctor who is the medical director of the camp stood up on the stage with a Power Point presentation chock full of graphs, charts, and objectionable pictures of infected infusion sites. I was able to digest the first hour or so and then BAM! The headache set in! I had no ibuprofen on me and my last line of defense, Diet Dr. Pepper, did not make a dent in it. Neal said it was probably because I had low blood sugar since I had not eaten since 5:40 a.m. (and that was just a granola bar). Then, we laughed at the irony of me suffering from hypoglycemia at the hands of a diabetes expert. I was finally able to diffuse my symptoms by playing solitaire on Neal's phone.

We were eventually dismissed and allowed to claim our son. The counselors had nothing but complimentary things to say about him. He entertained us with his tales of adventure featuring archery, horseback riding, swimming, and rock climbing. He was also carrying a goopy white substance he called "Gak", which if I'm not mistaken, was the name of a Dr. Suess character. He said he made it from glue and starch. I recognized it as the creation of Satan, sent to earth to torture parents like me. We put his luggage in the trunk and he threw the Gak in next to it.

I'm not sure if it was because of the lack of sleep or the low blood glucose, but I didn't catch the fact that he placed the Gak in the trunk right away. As we were cruising down the road, my mind started drifting to the Gak. I'm not a Gak expert, but I'm willing to bet that it's incompatible with a hot car trunk.

When we stopped to adjust the GPS to find an eatery, I commanded Neal to "pop the trunk" and made a mad dash back there to see where it had oozed. Luckily, I caught it before it did any serious damage. It had created a puddle on its cardboard tray next to the suitase and was starting to make inroads with the fabric on the luggage handle. I took the whole cardboard piece out of the trunk and carried it like it was a nuke. I gave it to my son who tried to defend its honor but I would not hear his well-thought-out plea. This had been a long day and I was ready to put Gak out of my life.

We stopped to eat lunch and then had a quiet drive home. Later, I thought to ask my son if he had made anything for his sister's birthday. He initially answered "no" and I made a mental note to buy something on his behalf.

Later, when we got home, he showed me a brown cardboard box that was not wrapped but was tied in blue curly-ribbon. On it was a handmade card wishing his sister a happy birthday.

Inside the box...you guessed it....Gak!