Equality For All

Do you know what does not discriminate between gay and straight? What doesn't care if you are transgender or questioning? That gives not a damn if you are bisexual, pansexual or asexual?

Lice.

Zachary came home with a head full of lice yesterday. Yes, the joys of tiny critters has finally come knocking at my door.

Everything is packed away in plastic bags. I'm washing the laundry in hot water not once, but twice. I shaved Zachary's hair- yes, we have clippers and a box of lice shampoo always on hand for just these kind of moments.

I'm itching like crazy. I may have to shave my own head.

Okay, that's only a butch lesbian fantasy I have, to take the clippers and let loose. I am itching like crazy, though.

I asked Zachary, who was oblivious, Didn't it itch?

Nah, he shrugged.

Equality for all, baby. Lice don't care.

And man, they can jump.

Tinky Winky and Dipsy

My wife was giggling away at her computer this morning. I have to admit, no one would ever suspect how playful and goofy she is. Ms. Vice President tends to keep a big wall between her softer side and the rest of the world.

This morning, with her note to Zachary at camp, she included this picture:



She told him she missed his dirty socks but she was suffering along without them. I don't know what made her think of the picture of me with Zachary as a toddler and those two giant, stuffed teletubbies my sister had sent them.

God knows, Cathy, we would have had a dull life without the toys you have sent over the years.

Of course, you know those teletubbies were simply a way to indoctrinate the children into the evils of the homosexual lifestyle. Or agenda. Or whatever Jerry Falwell said.

I'm struck by the comment yesterday... do we live in fear? No. We don't. We pack our fears into a box and say, yes, they are real.

And no, I will not live by them.

Camp OUT is at the Farm School in Athol, MA. Follow the link for more information.

First Letter from Camp

Jake sent me my first news from Camp. Looks good to me.

Packing for Camp

It's that time again. Zachary is packing for his month long trip to Camp Becket, a fabulous camp in the Berkshires. He loves it, he goes for a whole month- did I mention it's a month?- and no, there are no shorter sessions.

A month it is.

Except for first time campers who are 8 or 9 years old, they get to go for two weeks. Guess who is going for his first trip to overnight camp for two weeks? That would be Jake.

We have two trunks in the middle of the back room floor, piles of pants, shoes, laundry bags, watermelon flavored toothpaste and blueberry scented shampoo.

Better not be any bears out there, I said to Zachary who chose the berry scent.

Mom... they've only had ONE bear ONCE.

Just sayin'

Jake has been running around saying he was very "excited." He loves his new toothbrush, his new rain boots and bathing suit he picked out. Not to mention a way cool new digital watch.

I want to cry. My babies are going away. Zachary turns 11 while out at camp, and Jake is only 8 years old. They are too young, too little and they need their mommy.

I know, I know, balderdash. I need my babies, they are perfectly fine without me. They will grow and flourish and learn new things and develop a confidence that makes my heart burst with pride.

Another mom, her first year, called me. You mean it doesn't get easier?

Nope. Still makes me cry.

A few more things to pick up- batteries and the self addressed stamped envelopes to write home with that are never used- and they'll be ready for their adventure.

For a month.

Day Two, Summer Camp Finds the Groove

Today, after the plumber came and inspected the sewer pipe issue, we went to the beach. I find it amusing that now I need a full sized cooler to take the food for the day- and there are only four of us here.

Sandwiches, cherries, yogurts, chips, apples, muffins, sodas and ice water.



They still required a trip to Charlie's for french fries, hot dogs and, of course, clam strips.

While there was some mud slinging- literally, not figuratively- and a few time outs issued, the day was gorgeous. At one point we were all lined up on our towels, half snoozing. I realized they are all as tired as I am right now. The giant push to the end of the year is hard on them.

Tonight, sun soaked and fresh from showers, we're hanging out watching television. Much more along the lines of the kind of summer vacation I was thinking about.

Summer Blogging

Remember when I wrote in February about how I wanted to spend a lot of time with my kids this summer?

To have a "Camp Sara" and have structured days with different activities?

Remember how sweet that sounded?

Guess what... the reality is a little different. For one, summer caught me by surprise. I'm not ready. Can I please have two more weeks of school, sans any events/parties/conferences?

Secondly, the crew is less than excited about arts and crafts with mom. Partly because I personally hate arts and crafts- ew to glue on your fingers. Scissors make a mess and cleaning up after paints is enough to make my eye start twitching.

I didn't blog yesterday because I had a house full of kids, a small plumbing emergency and hot, humid weather. Oh, wait, I forgot the three glass half gallon milk bottles that came crashing out of the refrigerator when Ben pulled the door open, a tad too hard.

Milk and glass, everywhere.

Not really any time to sit the kids down and give a thoughtful creative writing exercise. Or even have a fun egg race. To be honest, I didn't even make lunch- I sent Ben and Zachary to the pizza place around the corner to pick up food.

The thing is, with my earnest excitement about having the kids around more this summer I forgot a very important piece- I am going to be flat out with all summer long.

There is no vacation. This is my heaviest work season.

So, please, be patient with me. I will continue to try and post every day, with pictures on weekends. But if I miss a day... well... say a prayer for me.

One Lobster Boat, Coming Up...

I hope Donald’s friends in Maine do not read my blog because if they do, I’m screwing myself as far as negotiations go…

I have a boat for Maine. For this summer. A lobster boat. Just a little one, with a little electric hauler to pull up traps. We’re allowed five because we own land up there.

I’m about to die. I saw the pictures and all my efforts to stay in the moment and be present were out the window. Suddenly, I was in the house, steering towards the next trap, as dawn was breaking on the horizon…

Oh. I have to have it.

Donald will have to own the poker face for this transaction.

One of the things I decided while away was that I was going to do a summer camp for the boys. I announced this to them New Years morning. They had a choice to go to the camp they went to last year- they all hated it- or they could come with me for a couple weeks to Down East and go to my camp.

They all moaned. A lot.

Hey, I said, I’ll have fishing, and boating- kayaking and sailing- swimming, arts and crafts- okay, only art because I hate glue and refuse to get my fingers sticky- creative writing, music, sign language class and cooking. Every day would have a rest period, and every day would have a work period.

They all moaned more.

I have not let them know yet they’ll get to invite one friend.

I realized while we were all cavorting in the ocean over the break, there would not be that many more summers when I would get to do this. Ben is 12 and soon he’ll be getting a job in the summer. The idea of such structured activities already gets rewarded with giant eye rolls and heavy sighs.

When the boys were little little, I took them to the beach almost every day. We’d get there at 7AM, wrapped in sweatshirts and carrying as many toys as humanly possible. I’d make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and cut them into quarters, along with grapes and juice and chips, and bagels.

They loved it. I loved it. I never got bored, they never got bored.

Now, they have longer over night camps that do not run the whole summer, leaving huge holes of time when they get to walk around and say, I’m bored. There’s nothing to do.

I gave up being camp counselor and sent them to day camps to fill in the time. They never liked their day camps, and I missed having a reason to go to the beach every day.

This year, I decided, I was going to put my best effort into it, perhaps bring in a few parent ringers in to help. I don’t know how to sail anything more than a sunfish and that was about thirty-five years ago and Allan is teaching the sign language class.

When I saw the picture of the boat today? I knew I made the right decision. Camp Sara starts after school ends. I have no idea how it will go and I’m not sure about the friends to invite- with no electricity and no phones, these parents are going to have to trust me.

A lot.

For now, I need to come back to earth. I’ve decided which candidate I’m going to vote for, work for, and really pull hard for. Homework needs to be done. It’s taco night- ugh- and I have to go cook the boy’s favorite greasy, nutritionally void meal.

I promised when they were all willing to eat the brown rice noodles and seared tuna last night.

Even though, there is a little part of me, standing on that boat… watching the bow crash through the waves, on my way to the next trap…