My little camper is away

And the house is silent. Too silent. Why do I feel so guilty that she's at camp? Maybe because she didn't want to go. Do I think she's having a good time? Probably. But I can't shake the feeling, or more specifically, the sight of her as her mom and I walked away while she was trying to fit in with the rest of the girls already in the cabin. I'm glad she got the top bunk. She always likes the top bunk best. I'm glad we turned around and went back home to get her hat. She loves her hat. And I'm glad she at least knew someone as we stood in line to check in. I'm worried about her cold. I'm worried that she'll get homesick. I'm worried that she'll be sad until she gets back. But she's stronger than me. She's more secure. She's able to adapt. Her tolerance level is amazing. And after all, it is camp. Hell, I wished I'd have been able to stay. Swimming all day. Stomping around in mud. Canoe riding. Zip lines. Midnight polar swims. Hell, what's not to like. Except being away from home, I guess. I miss you, bean.

Winter Park Isn't West Chester, PA . . .

But a vacation is a vacation. WC was our destination of choice this summer, but a baby to be kind of put a kink in those plans. So we're off to Winter Park, and really, is WP that much of a compromise? Nah. The alpine slide awaits, and I have a feeling my kids will wear it out. I'm going to give it a shot, myself.

Why WC in the first place? To visit family, and missing that puts much regret in my bones. I'd rather be there, soaking up the wisdom of June and Marianne. Soaking up the spirit that is there enthusiasm. Soaking up the nature of family. Until next year . . .