Sunday, July 24, 2011
Summer Camp, Boot Camp and random thoughts
We're childless for another week, and once again she had no trouble sending us off on our way from her old friend (Helen) and her newly found friends with whom she'll share a Kickapoo cabin at FlatRock River Camp.
I know this is a good thing. I've encouraged her indendpendent streak. I even like it. Except when I don't.
Before she went, I asked her if she thought the boy she'd gone on a "date" with to the weekly camp dance would be there and if she thought she'd go with him again and if she thought he'd try to kiss her. She informed me that she didn't know if he'd be there, she has little interest in kissing but if she did, she wouldn't tell me because "You'll just blab it on the Internet."
She doesn't read this blog, but some of her friends do and they tell her about it. I told her that if she tells me it's a secret, I never share -- not here and not anywhere. She seemed to accept it as believable. I'm hoping so because I'm fairly certain her opinion on boys and romance is going to change. She actually brought a skirt and fancy top in anticipation of the dance, and she's lately been interested in shopping.
I've actually been encouraging the "no romance, no how, no way" concept. But I know it's only a matter of time.
I reminded her today that when she gets back from her sleepaway camp, she'll have rock climbing camp at the Jordan Y but on Wednesday she'll skip it to go to Raccoon Lake with Elizabeth and Traci. This on the heels of a week with her cousins in the country and a week in Maine.
"This is the best summer EVER!" she chirped.
Indeed. You could do worse than have the life of Alison Reed.
Next week, I've committed to a boot camp exercise class at work that I couldn't normally take and pick Ali up on time from her day camp. We normally split delivery and pickup, and Jeff's work arrival is later than mine, so he's generally the one who delivers her to wherever she's headed in the morning. I asked our fitness instructor, Kelsey, who is my friend (unless I'm in agony and cursing her) if I should plan on doing my usual Monday strength training as well as the boot camp.
"Um. Probably not," she said.
The Angie's List garden needs more weeding. "Think I'll be in good enough shape to weed after the class?"
"Um. Probably not," she said.
Great. Can't wait for that....
The heat wave claimed James and David's pool in Maine. If you've ever wondered what it would take to melt super heavy duty plastic, it's several weeks of 90-degree heat in a row. Ali and I, who covet their pool, had a moment of silence.
A hawk has moved into our neighborhood and sometimes hangs out in the trees in our yard. One day, it was playing tag with another hawk from our yard to Debbie's next door, across to Jason's and back again.
I thought perhaps it was a love match, but I haven't seen Hawk No. 2 since then, so now I'm wondering if I witnesses the early stages of raptor-i-cide. Who do you call to report on that?!
Karin and I witnessed a woman yesterday who was wearing black tights that were so wrongly sized that her panties make them look like control top panty hose. Except that you knew they were panties. I've committed my share of fashion sins, and I'm sure there are more to come, but please. Even though they're called "tights" your circulatory system shouldn't be jeopardized. And panties are UNDERwear. They should be under there, not out there.
I had book club Friday and we talked about The Paris Wife -- a book about Ernest Hemmingway's first wife and the craziness that led up to their divorce. It's got me on a Hemmingway kick and I'm being encouraged to read Loving Frank, about his mistress. I'm fairly certain I'm going to need a vampire book in between. They may be biters, the vamps, but they're loyal to their mates once they find them....