|Seven days for a seven-year-old: Basic gear minus the sleeping bag (favorite Clone War pajamas included).|
We held on tight to the older one, who went to sleepaway camp only at age nine. Given how she thrives on social activity we probably should have sent her at age four. Now the seven-year-old must do as his older sister does, so he will go for a week.
He is blossoming with boy power and is looking forward to frenetic, crazed activity with others who share his basic philosophy: pump up the energy, pump up the volume. He will be fine as long as a nightlight is provided and some adult (or councilor ) tells him, at least once during the week, that he should brush his teeth (bathing will be a tough sell).
So tonight we will celebrate as a family. My son has requested hot dogs and kale for dinner (he knows he will have to eat some veggies) and strawberry rhubarb pie for dessert. Furthering the momentous occasion we will go see “Madagascar 3: Europe’s Most Wanted.” Obviously we want penguins and lemurs more than the other characters, but such is life. Mort, King Julian’s feet-worshiping companion, is an often impersonated character around our dinner table.