I’m here today to announce that…
I am a crafty one!
This is my home for the next week:
Home, Sweet Home = the Arts and Crafts building at camp
And, when I say camp, I mean junior high summer camp, which, not coincidentally, is full of junior highers. One of whom is my very own junior higher, Miss Abby. (Teehee.)
Now, I like arts and crafts as much as the next girl. I make a mean friendship bracelet, if I do say so myself. But I am STOKED to have this chance to practice being cool in front of junior highers. And, specifically, I am ecstatic to have this chance to practice being cool in front of Abby’s junior high friends. I am positive it’s going to go swimmingly and that she’s going to let me come back year after year after year.
You may be surprised to learn that coolness is not a natural skill for me. I know. I know. Try not to gasp from the shock. To prove it’s true, you can reference the time that I sang opera to Abby’s friends and was likened unto a dying walrus. Or the time I gave them an overview of feminine hygiene products and situational uses for each type. Or… well, there are lots of times you can reference, and I don’t have time to list them all because I’m at camp!
Now, the truth is, the decision to come to camp wasn’t made lightly. I had to get Abby’s permission, which she enthusiastically gave, almost resulting in my heart attack. And I had to talk my cousin, Leslie, the camp director, into giving me a job… ’cause they don’t just let mommies walk around camp checking on their sweet babies, licking napkins and wiping kids’ faces. Weird, right?
Enter: Arts & Crafts
Me: Leslie can I please, please, please, please come to camp this year? Abby said she’s OK with it.
Leslie: Are you sure it’s OK with Abby?
Me: I SWEAR! She said I could.
Leslie: Well, I guess you can do art & crafts.
Now you know why, in lieu of my usual family posts, you’re about to receive a slew of craft-related posts. If all goes according to bloggy plan (you may laugh along with me at this point, knowing how little of my life goes according to plan… see coffee), then I shall post a new, easy, follow-along-at-home, inexpensive, quick, and, above all, COOL craft every day for 5 days.
You may find this instructive if you like to do crafts with your kids at home.
Or, if you’re like me and you hide the Playdough (What Playdough, kids? I’m pretty sure we don’t own any Playdough. No, I don’t think you got any for your birthday. Huh. It’s a mystery. Let’s play outside!), then you may simply laugh along that I got myself roped into this insanity and have to figure out what to do with beads, baby food jars, tie-dyed socks, reams of paper, and 30 different colors of paint. I can’t wait!
I love camp. I LOVE camp. I love, LOVE camp.
This is the very same place, on the Oregon coast, where I met Greg the summer of 1993.
This is the place where Greg built me a giant, beach bonfire and first mused aloud that he’d like to kiss me. Which was right after I deprived him of sleep ’til almost 4:00am and he was delirious from exhaustion. I might’ve orchestrated that situation just a tad, but, as I said previously: I’m a crafty one.
This is the place where Greg got horribly, wretchedly ill, barfed all over the inside of my car, and had to be nursed all night long.
And this is the place where Greg’s parents came to rescue their royally sick son. And picked him up at my house. Where I first met them. In my bathrobe.
Thank God I didn’t know that I was meeting my future in-laws. I would’ve died of embarrassment. Thank God they didn’t know they were meeting their future daughter-in-law. They would’ve died of I-just-met-my-daughter-in-law-in-her-bathrobe, which, as I’m sure you know, is a terrible way to go.
Truly, this camp has a very special place in my heart. It’s the place where I met many of the people who are my friends and family.
I’m privileged – so privileged – to get to be here and share the joys of the week alongside a stunningly beautiful group of folks.
Living and breathing arts and crafts for days and days (wish me luck!),