Hello Mudda.... Oh, Brudda!

This past month my children have had the amazing privilege of going to the camp I attended in my youth. I was fortunate enough to attend a Christian school and youth group throughout the year but Camp Y.E.S. was the highlight of my summers. My children look doubly forward to it being that we live a fair distance from other church youth and they don't get to see them on a regular basis.

This year, Hubby and I decided the kids shouldn't get to have all the fun. We wanted to go too! The 7-9 week "just happened" to fall on the last week of Hubby's holidays so we filled out our volunteer registration forms and prepared to be counsellors to our 3 youngest campers and a myriad of their new friends. 

The week began on a bit of a bumpy note. As my girl and I sat in the main meeting place, aptly named "The Dome" for its spherically shaped roof, I noticed a look in her eyes. 

It wasn't "fear" necessarily but uncertainty. She caught my quizzical stare and before I could ask if she was homesick she guessed my question and offered a slight nod with one correction, "I'm sister-sick." Just as the tears began to pool in the corner of her eyes our Camp Director, the same man who has directed our camp since the first year I was a camper back in......ninetee....the day, called us to attention.

We were instructed to grab our gear and head to our dorm. We would be divided into cabins there. The girls' beds were in the basement of the dining hall. One long room at the back was sectioned off by tape that had been run along the floor to designated the different "cabins". The common room also had 3 sets of bunks, along with ping pong, pool, and air hockey tables. This was my cabin.

Hubby and the Buddies got to stay in the newly constructed (but as yet poorly insulated) bunkies. At first I had a slight twinge of jealously that Hubby and his charges got their own four walls but after the thermometer dipped to 10*C overnight and Hubby came to Counsellor's devotions with chattering teeth... it faded.

Being that I was a former camper and felt as though I had a certain reputation to uphold (or squelch depending on perspective) I began drilling my kids on behaviour weeks before camp started. I spent many an evening on my knees praying that they wouldn't get into any trouble. What I didn't consider was I didn't necessarily have to hope my children would be uncharacteristically good but that there would be worse behaved children than my own. Alas, they each had a turn proving that I am still a student of Parenting 101. 

One of the most exciting things about camp for my little sugar bugs was Tuck. I don't generally buy junk food so I gave them (what I felt) was generous amount of money to last the week. On day two, Hubby and I stopped to chat with Pastor Mac (Camp Director Extrodinaire). As we approached he held out 4 packs of Skittles. 

  "These belong to one of yours....I'm not sure which one. He asked me to hold on to them while he did something and never came back."

I took one pack from him but he still held out the other 3.

"No, no. All of them. They're all his." 

Suffice it to say, Buddy #1 was out of tuck money by Wednesday. 

Buddy #2 is considerably better with his money....takes after his mom. When he buys something he makes it last. He decided on one pack of gummies. He ate a few and because of his generous nature offered a few to friends then declared he would be saving the rest for later and put them in a secure spot in his bunkie. That evening a fellow counsellor and Ontario Provincial Police Officer informed my husband that Buddy #2 had consulted him on a crime. 

"You're a police officer right?"

"Yes..."

"Well, someone stole my candy! Can you help me? We'll cordon off the grounds, find witnesses, and interrogate any suspects!"

I swear I have never let that kid watch a crime drama...I have no idea where he got that from. The next day as he and Hubby walked to The Dome together, Buddy #2 spotted a colourful stone on the path which turned out to be the same type of candy that had been "stolen" from him. When he bent to pick it up, Hubby chided him, "Don't eat that! It's been on the ground!"

"Are you kidding?!" He asked incredulously. "I'm not going to eat this!! It's EVIDENCE!" And he unceremoniously stuffed in his pocket. 

We made it to Friday without much more drama. The schedule tends to be a bit more relaxed on the last full day and during the activity time, Pastor Mac allowed the kids to choose between horseback riding or a game of Big Ball. 

My girls decided on horses so I escorted them there and Hubby ended up at the Big Ball field. I was in the middle of a lovely chat when another counsellor came running toward me. 

"Mrs. T! Mr. T's down and he's not getting up!"

I ran over to the field to find my husband accepted a challenge he shouldn't have and ended up injuring his knee enough to require surgery and 4 to 6 months rehabilitation. Each one of the kids came to see dad while we waited on the ambulance. My girl asked him if he was ok, Buddy #2 wanted to know if Daddy would be back at camp that evening. Buddy #1 said, "I just have one question about while you're at the hospital." 

"What's that my buddy?" Hubby asked, thinking he was worried about what the doctors would do to him or something of the like...

"Can I," deep breath, "use some of your tuck money?"

"Oh. Sure. I guess you can get one......"

Buddy #1 was already running so I'm quite sure he didn't hear his dad say "ring pop."

While the ambulance attendants were loading the patient Buddy #1 was at the Tuck Shop ordering one....of everything.