Kids At Camp. Mom Not. All Is Well.

Day 18 of the Kids-At-Camp-Mom-Not program. At this point, though, I suppose the program could be renamed the Eight-Days-Remain program. As in, Eight Days Remain until I drive five and half hours to retrieve two exhausted, over-sunned, iPod- and mobile-phone-deprived campers for what will surely be some top quality car time with me. Hoo boy. Yep. Best to strap on those seat belts. That re-entry could be a little rocky.

Unexpectedly, I’ve been rather enjoying myself in their absence. I’d anticipated, after dropping them at camp 18 days ago, that I’d make the lonely return trip awash in tears, wracked by sobs so debilitating that I'd have to pull over to the shoulder and get myself together.

Um. Didn’t happen. I did get to listen to whatever I wanted on the car CD player, though, all the way home. And I got to sing. My songs. Loudly. Repeatedly. And off-key.

Originally, I’d thought it possible that I’d get a call from Kleenex manufacturer Kimberly Clark, thanking me for my singular increased tissue usage, which had prompted spiking stock prices. Hmm. Well. Looks like there are still plenty of tissues here, so I’m not worried about missing that call.

I had even boldly predicted that, for the four weeks they were at camp, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from getting up in the night to check on the kids, only to be reminded, sadly, that they’re not here. Right. Turns out, I got re-trained pretty darn quickly. I don't have to check. They’re not here. I'm OK with that.

I know I should feel guilty about how easy this has been for me. ‘Cause I really do love my kids and bask in their company. And they both know that. But it's only four weeks, and I've been making the most of it. And the fact is, the kids are doing everything they can to make sure I don't miss them.

Just look at an excerpt from the letter Mike The Mailman delivered today from Snarky Son (SS) – Not much to say, um, they’re forcing me to write. I’m having loads of fun … send candy!

Um, I love you, too?

And this, from Darling Daughter (DD), There are 10 days left of camp. I can’t believe it’s almost over. I don’t want to leave!

That's all right. Anyone could read between the lines on that one. She's desperate for me, right?

Let’s just say that I'm not counting on a Disney-type moment when I retrieve them next weekend. I well remember last summer, when SS made his return trip from camp to reality – and chores, rules, veggies, required-footwear and poop-scooping. He wasn't home 24 hours before he asked, in all seriousness, whether he could return to camp for another four weeks. What a lovable kid.

Lucky for me, I’ve still got another eight days to relish ... um, mourn ... their absence. And there's no better way to do it than with one of my favorite – and their least favorite – dishes. Potato salad.

I really do believe that this recipe (based on my mom’s) is the best ever. It's very old-fashioned and very simple – no boiled eggs, no bell peppers, no ornamental paprika and none of that yellow food coloring my grandmother occasionally called upon to give her salad just the right appearance.

And the way I eat it -- starting the day with breakfast and ending the day as bedtime snack -- it’ll be long gone before the kids return to reality. Lucky for them -- and me.

Old Fashioned Potato Salad

2 pounds Yukon Gold potatoes (about 5)

3 ribs celery, sliced

1 large kosher dill pickle, cubed

1/2 large sweet onion (Vidalia or Maui), diced

3/4 teaspoon kosher salt

1/2 cup mayonnaise

1 1/2 tablespoons yellow mustard (or slightly more, to taste)

generous grind of black pepper

Put whole, unpeeled potatoes in a large pot of salted water. Bring water to a boil, reduce heat somewhat and simmer until fork tender. Drain, let cool slightly, peel and cut in rough 1/2 inch dice. Stir in celery, pickle and onions. Stir in about half of the mayonnaise and all of the mustard. Continue stirring in remaining mayonnaise as needed until moistened. Stir in pepper and additional salt if needed. Chill well and serve!

A Girl Needs Girls. And Chocolate.

I am one lucky girl.

It’s Day Eleven of Kids-At-Camp-Mom-Not, and two more well-written letters from Darling Daughter have arrived at my door.

I absolutely adore when Mike the Mailman delivers “real” mail – even though the envelopes bear my own handwriting because I had pre-addressed and stamped them myself. I'm not even bothered to know that I owe DD one dollar for each of these letters. (Yep. That's the going price for a well-written letter. Don't judge me. It works.)

To me, DD is compulsively “readable.” I read and re-read each of her notes, scavenging for details I may have missed the first time through, seeking additional clues to her mood by trying to read between the lines and analyze her handwriting and choice of ink color. However, I am considering tucking a thesaurus in her next care package. The word “awesome” is beginning to show some wear.

Her most recent letter is from Day Seven, just before her first dance. She wrote, “I am so excited! Each Saturday, they bring dinner to you on the porch while you have a shaving party! After you shave, you take showers. Then comes the dance.”

My own heart did a little two-step as I read those words: shaving party. (Yes. I did briefly consider the potential health and safety issues. But only for an instant.)

We don’t get to choose our memories. We don't get to decide which details of an event will be tattooed on our brain for a lifetime. For example, from DD’s four weeks at camp, I’m not positive that, 20 years from now, she’ll remember: Did she sail or ride horseback? Did she play tennis or golf? Did she water-ski or learn to fly just by running at a fast clip and flapping her arms? (OK, that last she might remember.) I feel certain, though, that she’ll recall, in precise detail, “shaving parties.” I wasn’t there, of course, but even I have an indelible picture in my mind – all those slender pony-tailed girls on a long wooden porch, with their colt-like legs angled this way and that, stars in their eyes, doing far more chatting and giggling than shaving.

A girl needs girls – whether she’s 12 or, like me, 46. And while DD was sharing Schicks with her girls this past weekend, I was sharing stories in Boston with mine, including Super Sis (blog editor par excellence) and three of the funniest, funnest, smartest, dearest women I know. Our friendship goes back over 20 years, from when I lived and worked in Boston in the 80s. As I said, I am one lucky girl.

Boy did we laugh.

We drank, we laughed. We ate, we laughed. We shopped, we laughed. We used profanity, we laughed. We snapped pictures of inappropriate signs, we laughed. Sometimes we giggled and squealed and snorted. And then, we laughed.

A couple of times, we couldn't even talk for laughing. We promised each other that what happened in Boston would stay in Boston. Even so, some of what happened kind of leaked out around the edges and found its way home. (Dang Facebook. And cell phones. And me.) But we just laughed some more. SS and I laughed all the way to the airport and all the way home to Charleston (SS) and Charlotte (me). We're still laughing now.

Not all of the stories we shared were funny, of course. We’re older now and have seen far more than our share of difficulties. Of the five of us, three are messily divorced. One of us had attended two funerals the week before -- including a shocking one for a teenage boy. There were stories of infidelity and money woes and difficult teenagers and assorted family tragedies. But in the end, we found humor in sharing. We laughed.

Girl power at its best.

Naturally, today’s recipe has to include every girl’s favorite ingredient – chocolate. So here's a little something that SS shared with me, but I haven’t yet tried. It's a little unusual, but just by looking at it, I think it’ll work. (Besides, the idea of baking cake in a coffee mug makes me laugh!)

Because truly, I am one lucky girl.

The Five-Minute Chocolate Cake For One Person
4 tablespoons flour
4 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons cocoa
1 egg (lightly beaten)
3 tablespoons milk
3 tablespoons oil
3 tablespoons chocolate chips
Small splash of vanilla extract

Mix dry ingredients in a large, microwavable coffee mug (no kidding). Stir in the beaten egg. Pour in milk and oil. Mix well. Stir in chocolate chips and oil. Put your mug in the microwave and cook for 3 minutes at 1000 watts. The cake will puff up, but don’t be alarmed. Allow to cool a little and tip out onto a plate if desired. Sounds like it would be good with whipped cream, too, don’t you think?

What's Left Behind (Day Nine)

Yesterday was Day Nine of the Kids-At-Camp-Mom-Not program. Ideal day to chill some white wine. It was, after all, a Monday.

Don't judge me.

So I swing by The Wine Shop (truly, that’s the name of the business -- The Wine Shop) for a bottle of my fave sauvignon blanc. So far, so good.

Once home, I open the fridge to realize that there is zero room for wine. I can't jam in a single sprightly bottle of New Zealand’s finest. (Since I’m the type to plan ahead, I’d been hoping to chill two.) I’m dumbfounded. What gives?

Well, even though Darling Daughter and Snarky Son have been away for over a week, it appears they left mementoes, including such oddities as a one-gallon 1% organic milk jug holding nothing but the dried film of 1% organic milk, a space-hogging plastic gallon container encapsulating less than half a gallon of Gatorade, a two-liter bottle of Cherry Sprite holding two liters of Cherry Sprite less two sips, a two-quart Rubbermaid bowl of two-week-old Sausage Pasta (click here for recipe), four jars of assorted jams and jellies (notable because my kids don’t like jams or jellies), and inexplicably, two packages of Oscar Mayer Steakhouse Beef and Pepper Jack Deli Creations.

Say what?

Being the thoughtful kids they are, they wouldn’t dream of confining the treasured reminders of their existence to the fridge alone. Nope. After they left for camp, dirty laundry paved their bedroom floors, candy wrappers cluttered the dressers and plastic cups of Coke sludge could be found on the windowsills. “Sludge” of course, is what remains after the popular soft drink has roasted in a windowsill for 10 days. The resulting residue has the "stickability" factor of day-old chewing gum combined with Super Glue served to a patient with lockjaw. Never mind that neither kid is allowed to have food or drink in their rooms. Whatevs.

I’ve also found countless random price tags – ripped from items such as wind pants, sunglasses and other essential items that they just “had to have” before heading to camp, unopened bottles of sunscreen which were cast aside as unnecessary, as well as the flotsam and jetsam dislodged from their lockers at the end of the school year.

Hmm. Time to make good use of some 13-gallon plastic kitchen garbage bags. Because even now, as the kids are at camp, they are sending reinforcements home. But this time, I’m not complaining, because the reinforcements are in the form of envelopes containing the most precious items of all – letters home.

Sigh. I love these kids.

I can't even begin to pretend to be annoyed by their mail. In fact, it was fortuitous that I wasn't home when Mike The Mailman came by with the precious papers. I likely would've kissed him square on the lips.

What I learn from the kids' letters is that each of them is fabulous, fine and funny. Snarky Son, inexplicably, has been re-named “Brad” by his cabinmates. In the event that “Brad” doesn’t take, “Drake” is the name-in-waiting. Darling Daughter, who’s never been to a camp like this, declares that everything is fabulous, -- the activities, the friends, the counselors, the sleep and most shocking of all – the FOOD. She would, however, like me to send her a Crazy Creek chair. Whatever that is.

On the other hand -- fabulous food? Sign me up.

But first, I want to make room in the fridge here at home. I trash the empty milk jug, the outdated Gatorade, the unloved Cherry Sprite and two of the jam jars. Perfect. I now have ample space to chill three bottles of Sauvignon Blanc and some seedless watermelon. Which is just what I'll need to get started on some Watermelon Sangria for the Independence Day weekend.

Watermelon Sangria

2 cups of seedless watermelon puree (just toss chunks of watermelon in a blender or food processor)

1/2 cup vodka

1/2 cup watermelon schnappes

1/2 cup sugar

10 peppercorns, lightly crushed

1 knob fresh ginger, thinly sliced

1 lime, thinly sliced

1 cup ginger ale, chilled

1 bottle sauvignon blanc, chilled

kosher salt

Combine watermelon puree, vodka, schnappes, sugar, peppercorns, ginger and lime in a lidded container. Shake or stir to dissolve sugar, and chill -- at least four hours, or better still, overnight. After flavors have melded, stir in chilled ginger ale and wine, strain into stemmed glasses with ice. Sprinkle with salt and garnish -- either with lime wheels, watermelon wedges or (for Independence Day) blueberries. Cheers!