Who's Fooling Who?

Carmella just finished her two week stint at camp. The above picture is from her last day. It was Carnival day and she got to go in costume. They swim everyday so we incorporated her bathing suit into the costume. And by we I mean her. She nixed my first costume suggestion. It was too itchy.

She is a swim fairy.

She went to this camp last year too.It is an awesome outdoorsy, artsy, hippylike camp. The idea behind sending her to this camp is to slowly break her of her prissiness. As you can see from the above picture prissiness has prevailed. Yes, she gets dirty and yes she wears shorts and has fun; but no, she won't touch the bugs and pink is still her favorite color. And yes, princesses and fairies and Barbies are still all the rage. But so are snakes and swimming and tepees and silly jokes.

Seriously, it is a fun, think-outside-of-the-box kind of camp. They teach the kids to swim, they ride horses, play with farm animals, do art projects, and put on little plays-- all the while nurturing a love of nature and respect for the planet.

As I have mentioned several times previously, like here and here, that Carmella sometimes has a hard time with the think outside of the box mentality. She is a rigid rule follower. So much so that last week when it was Crazy Hair day she didn't once mention to me that it was going to be Crazy Hair day.

When I dropped her off at camp on Crazy Hair day and realized it was Crazy Hair day--which, if I am being honest, it took me seeing quite a few people to realize it was Crazy Hair day not just regular hair day-- and knew it was too late to make Carmella's hair crazy I, understandably, felt terribly guilty. And by guilty, I mean as in I failed her as a mother guilty.

I kissed her and apologized and said goodbye and sent her off to camp with her normal hair fixed exactly how she instructed me to fix it. She seemed fine and not too disappointed but still, I had a horrible knot in my stomach the rest of the day just knowing (because mothers just know these things about their daughters) that she was probably so sad because she didn't get to participate in Crazy Hair day and it was all my fault. Ugh!

When I picked her up that afternoon I again apologized to her and asked if she was sad that she didn't have crazy hair. She said no and asked for the rest of her lunch that she hadn't finished eating at camp. As she munched on what was left of her peanutbutter sandwich she admitted that she had purposely not told me about crazy hair day.

And then, as we drove home and she finished off her pretzels, she further admitted that she had been relieved when I didn't find the memo stuck in her backpack: A memo that, once discovered, clearly stated about the now past Crazy Hair day and the upcoming Carnival day--which, by the way, Carmella was quite excited about participating in. This memo-- by the way-- had deliberately been put in a pocket that I never look in by er, um, cough, Carmella! I never look in this pocket because there is never anything in there. Well, that will teach me.

And here is where I have to admit that I am more than a little bit scared.

Ever since Carmella has turned five I just keep discovering all these things that make me more and more fearful of the teenage years.