|Our little guy is little no longer! Not really, but this is what one is supposed to say.|
My eight-year-old son was ready to be done with us the night before, rambunctiously running around with his buddies before boarding the bus to go to camp for a week.
There was the usual assortment of travel gear - trunks, drawers, duffels - which eventually was piled in a truck. The buses started their engines, a crescendo of good-byes, then ...a noticeably quieter parking lot.
We then sped home and began furiously writing letters, wringing our hands as imaginations made weird juxtaposition of zombie apocalypse and Honey Booboo.
This morning we awoke refreshed, slightly optimistic about our expanded capacity. Somehow all will hold for a week.