In divorcing, I signed up for a lifetime of phone calls from vacations I'm not on, of car doors closing as my boys leave, of never getting to celebrate Father's Day for my father or husband with them present. It's a lifetime of separations.
"Oh, yes. Grace," I began, haltingly. "One thing to remember is that you will be at camp, having all of these new experiences. Everything here is just the same as ever. I'll be here in my ordinary life."
Sitting here in my grown-up office, I've somewhat accepted the whole "you don't get a three-month summer vacay" reality of adulthood, but I'm still a sleepaway camp kid at heart. And in my 100 percent biased opinion, your child should be one too.
My parents LIKED sending us to camp! Sure they missed us (I think...), but they partied. I'm sure of it. They traveled, went out to fancy dinners, stayed out late, and quite possibly danced on our beds to celebrate our absence.