Year 4. After three years of driving, I convinced Greg to skip the eight hour torturous drive and fly. Instead of trying to jockey for a parking spot for my G4, I’ll be roughing it in coach. I was told that finding a parking spot at Auburn/Lewiston would be harder than getting tickets to Hamilton. Since I will need to go through security, I am unsure if any of the Visiting Day goodies will be confiscated. I mean after receiving a list like this : (fyi this is not my kid)
How does one bring everything? Do you need to buy an extra seat on the plane? I can’t exactly wheel a beach cart on the plane and I certainly am not packing extra luggage. I mean I am only entitled to one free checked bag. It’s hard enough having to figure out what to do with the g-d damn Candy Pole
And even if I could bring it all, do I really need to rent a Suburban to schlep it all to camp? Thankfully the flight is only an hour and 1/2 which means I will have time to get a blowout before I leave because who knows how many ex-boyfriends I may run into while checking into the hotel.
After we stop for the “BEST” LOBSTER ROLL in MAINE and rent an economy size Ford Fiesta, It’s off to hotel check-in we will go. Even though we reserved this room a year in advance and paid a zillion dollars a night, there is little chance we will get our room before 3pm. It still kills me that we check into a hotel that literally costs $150 a night but is equivalent to the cost of Christmas Week in St. Barts. At these rates I want a cold towel, bottle of champagne sent to the room and my dinner reservations made for me. Fuck the free shuttle, I want a house car.
Speaking of dinner reservations, forget it. If you didn’t make them 2 months to the day, I will assume you are eating at 5:30 or 10 and hoping to score a seat.
It is imperative I get my beauty rest as I will need to be up bright and early plugging the camp address into Waze (even though I have been there four years in a row, the camp is no more than 30 minutes away and is basically two country roads). My alarm is set for the crack, this way Greg has time to use the bathroom twice, grab coffee, maybe use the bathroom a third time and beat the mad rush to the hotel parking garage. The caravan of black cars and SUV’s takes shape so fast I often think locals are wondering who died or if Obama is in town.
The honking begins…. HI ERIC, LOOK WHO’S HERE!
THE GIRLS HEAR THE CAR HORNS AND DODGE FOR ……
After weeks of prepping, Visiting Day is here. It’s time to present the kids with the latest and greatest useless- soon-to-be thrown out -traded or lost- “MUST HAVE” Visiting Day gifts.
The girls are prancing around the bunk showing off their new BitsyBoho Friendship Bracelets, eating tie dye bagels, squeeze cheese, ritz crackers, pop tarts, frosting, Pringles, Baked by Melissa minis in their new Welcome to My House Sleep Shirts, counting the minutes until all their food is confiscated.
If you have a boy, your son already knows that KD is going to play for the Golden State Warriors (due to him not signing with the Knicks, save your opinions, I don’t care). His new sneakers, the KD9’s (olympic edition) have just dropped but already sold out. And there is the ONE MOM who loves their kid THE MOST and pre-ordered and paid for overnight shipping. Props to you for buying 18 pairs at $150/piece for bunk gifts. I would have done it but, unfortunately, I couldn’t have fit them all in coach.
The camp activities begin and, thankfully, Greg listened when I told him to wear his best white tee and uber cool kicks. After all, he is representing me. The “guys,” acting as campers for the day, partake in all bunk activities including tennis, hockey, GaGa, baseball and soccer. Like clockwork, the guy with “sickest-abs-ever” is always the first to jump in the lake. He LOVES showing off his dad bod to all his ex girlfriends (aka mom’s of other kids). I wonder if there is a mom group text convo about him. I want in.
Before we know it lunch is over and it’s time to hug goodbye.
I don’t know which is worse the stress leading into the day or the anxiety knowing we have to leave. I don’t have the patience figure it out but I do know its time to get a drink.
Weeks of blood, sweat, and tears have gone into prepping for the big day. Countless trips to the supermarket and BeeBee have been made. Just like that, in just six short hours the day is done. We drive back to the hotel in our now empty car feeling accomplished having managed to present our kids with every artificial food of choice all to be consumed in the next twelve hours. By now, I’m sure the bunk floors are covered with numerous candy wrappers and customized cookie cakes.
As we walk into the lobby I over hear a group of moms discussing their next venture to entertain themselves with for the next 3 weeks–“the welcome home gift”: