My eldest child has always thrived in her own company. Unlike many of her peers, she’s not particularly interested in fitting in; rather, she finds joy in her own thoughts and interests. While she has a circle of friends and receives invitations to middle school gatherings, she often feels no compulsion to engage with those who don’t pique her curiosity. This independence means she’s rarely lonely; adults enjoy her company, engaging her in conversations about literature and history. In many ways, she embodies a maturity that far exceeds her age.
This has been her nature for as long as I can remember. Back in kindergarten, her eyes lit up while discussing the tragic fates of historical figures like Abraham Lincoln and JFK. In third grade, she grappled with the story of Anne Frank, puzzled over how such a calamity could befall a child like her. By fourth grade, the school librarian had to accommodate her voracious reading habits, allowing her to borrow books that explored topics like the bubonic plague and the Great Depression. For Christmas in fifth grade, she highlighted two items on her wish list: a poster of Nelson Mandela and one of Malala Yousafzai, her role models. I ordered and framed both, and they now adorn her bedroom walls.
While her intellectual curiosity makes me proud, it also presents challenges. Engaging her in traditional summer activities can be quite the task. Although she enjoys Minecraft, the thought of summer camp or mundane activities like macramé makes her cringe. The idea of sleepaway camp brings her to tears. In stark contrast, her younger sister revels in the carefree joy of playing with friends under the supervision of junior counselors, while my eldest begs me, “Please, Mom, don’t make me go.”
At times, I’ve insisted she participate, but those moments rarely end well. I’ve learned to follow her lead.
This summer, after completing four weeks of on-campus courses—ranging from “The History of the Civil War” to the “Writers’ Academy,” and even “Strategic War Games,” where she was the only girl reenacting World War II maneuvers—she turned to me and said, “Once these classes wrap up, I don’t want any more camp stuff. It’s been fun, but now I want a week of just us.”
“A week of just us?” I replied. “What does that entail?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Maybe hanging out, visiting the bookstore, stopping for coffee, walking the dogs, and just talking.”
As a stay-at-home mom and a freelance editor, summer often feels like a chaotic juggling act. I find myself longing for quiet time rather than more togetherness. So, I initially hesitated at her request.
“Won’t you get bored hanging out with your old mom?” I asked.
“Not at all,” she assured me confidently.
After some reflection, I decided to change my approach. Instead of trying to manage everything, I agreed to dedicate a week to what she wanted: “Camp Mom.” We began our days by driving her younger sister to camp, with my eldest excitedly sitting in the front seat for the first time. We waved her off and headed to a local café—me sipping a latte while she enjoyed lemonade—as we discussed current events. One afternoon, we visited the Apple Store, where she confidently engaged in a technical conversation with a Genius Bar employee that left me bewildered. We took the dogs to the vet, tended to the garden, and lost ourselves in the aisles of bookstores. We also enjoyed lunch together, tackled laundry, and explored a nearby town. I allowed her to set the agenda for the week, following her lead as if it were a carefully planned itinerary.
It turned out to be a wonderful week. My daughter is delightful company, and I found that I learned more than I expected. Often, I approach the expansive summer months as a hurdle to overcome, frantically signing her up for numerous activities while yearning for moments of solitude. During our week of “Camp Mom,” I relinquished control of the schedule and let her take charge. It was refreshing to truly step back and enjoy some well-deserved downtime.
We spent our days wandering, browsing, chatting, and letting time unfold without a rigid plan. We may not have created intricate crafts or trophies to show for our time, but perhaps that was the beauty of it. My daughter declared it her favorite week of the summer, and honestly, I felt the same way.
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In summary, our week of “Camp Mom” turned out to be a valuable experience that deepened our bond and reminded me of the importance of enjoying the simple moments together.