Overtaxed and An Organ Down

It's Friday night.......already? What a week. Here's what it looked like:


It's supposed to be blurry, with smudged contrasts of blurriness. That about sums it up. The reason for my vague references of smooshed time is that we had another week of day camp. I think I mentioned that in my previous post, but I'll tell you more about it now.

It was a themed week - soccer - and half of the day. (Although the above picture is from spring soccer, because it's way too hot to wear long-sleeves or sweatpants this time of year. Just FYI.) Camp was in the mornings, this time. The week started off well and good, but as it progressed OC became very tired and worn out as one is wont to do after running around for two to three hours in the sun and kicking a ball, then spending the afternoon by running around in the sun while variously climbing in and out of a wading pool in your back yard. It's not a bad life, but does takes its toll on the energy reserves of youngsters. And older persons, for that matter. So it was for OC.

There were several days she said she felt sick, like she was going to throw up which I attributed to the heat and all that exercise. I gave her cups of ice water and free time so she could rest. I don't think she slept as well at night for some reason.

Today was, again, water fun day but alas, we were only signed up for morning camp. Water fun is reserved for the afternoons when the sun is at its highest scorching capability to burn your child - if extra sunscreen is not applied. I can't say I'm fond of the woman who I always meet there who constantly talks about her grown sons. Maybe it's just me, but I'd like her to pay attention to what is going on with the kids she is currently with, and what might need to be done with them because she always seems a little distracted. Perhaps tucking away the familial anecdotes would help to that end.

I came to pick her up at lunch time and there was a meltdown. She was horrified that she would have to leave before water fun day could commence. Before she could tell me this, I was met with the none too heartwarming reaction, "Oh no, my mom!" Imagine an equally disappointed tone of voice and you have it exactly.

The afternoon was saved when I offered that her friend from her old school was at a nearby resort and had invited us over for lunch and a swim. She stopped crying, but wasn't quite convinced it would be better than the three-feet high blow-up slide and a massive sunburn that was sure to be the result of water fun day if history repeats itself. (Okay, there was that one day where they DID remember to reapply sunscreen, if not a little spottily, but it's the sunburn that made her cry that I remember best.) Or, perhaps she was thinking of staying with friends she was already with and it was a transitions thing. Anyway, we got to the car in short order, cooperation was bribed with the promise of an ice cream bar of the cooperee's choice, and we were off.

Keep in mind that for all of these activities (soccer and swimming) it requires special gear not normally found in my car. So I had to anticipate and pack for the whole day. Plus, I found out earlier in the week that her biological father was planning to pick her up again for his weekend and so that extra bit required (laundry, mainly) yet another bag albeit this time with no special equipment. I did manage to forget her regular tennis shoes. I am redeemed in that I remembered teddy and pink blankie.

Tonight, I am without my child. She is three hours and the other side of a mountain range away. The feelings I experience when she is away like this I can find no better way to describe than to liken it to the way it must feel to be without an important organ. One's stomach, for instance. Imagine being told you must survive a weekend without your stomach because it needs to go visit someone in another town. It seems impossible, so Machiavellian and just wrong.

I miss her so much. The smell of her freshly washed hair, or quite frankly, the smell of her dirty hair, are both equally wonderful to me. Luckily, it is only for the weekend and not an entire week that she will be away. Although, her incredibly short-sided father did ask me at the time of drop off tonight if we had plans for the week. I'm sorry, even if I didn't? I would not be willing to make plans on a Friday night at drop off for more days than I planned for and packed for. Even if I did forget her tennis shoes.

It's not fair, but it's my fault; but things are better this way, but they are terrible in some. And so the cycle goes.

I won't feel right again, won't feel myself, until Sunday night on top of the mountain when I am rejoined with my missing piece of sweet little girlness, and the inevitable trouble she will have at the readjustment of coming home with me. Her reaction at this time is generally not in the vein of, "Oh no, it's mom!" At least not for another decade.