Last week's fret-fest over my son's possible descent into juvenile deliquency consumed as much of this family as the virus we were hosting. On the back of the school reports came the necessity of cancelling Eliot's birthday party due to the particularly tenacious chest cold that took up residence at Casa Hettler.
Lest my son succumb to some self-fulfilling prophecy, I decided it was time to turn my sour mood around. Having already bought a wide selection of finger foods, hung crepe paper in three shades of pink, and crafted 50 paper flowers, it seemed a shame not to celebrate. So, once Eliot was feeling better, we called on our camp pals to show up for an impromptu, soggy-day, indoor soiree.
On just a few hours notice, a vivacious assemblage of camp neighbors clad in fabrics of fuschia and bubble-gum descended. We munched on fruit and cake, blew out candles, and played a round of pin-the-crown-on-the-princess. Decked out in his fancy tutu and pink socks, Eliot hopped onto his new, oversized train and tooted it around the living room. Everyone applauded. He basked, for that one, brief afternoon, in the combined attention of a half-dozen adoring friends.
Then, on Friday, Teacher greeted me at the playground gate with the announcement, "Eliot was our bell-ringer today. He was a great helper." As Eliot flung himself in my arms, Teacher said, "Great job today, Eliot. I am so proud of you."
That is four whole sentences of praise, all spoken in the general vicinity of my son. Hooray! Just today, Teacher thanked me for the snacks and made sure Eliot remembered his birthday crown. Seems things are settling down in the land of preschool. On this beginning of our camp kid's fourth year, I am looking forward to enjoying the friends who live right through the woods, the new skills our son is practicing, and the countless ways we can celebrate this funky little home called camp.
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