Tuesday, June 29, 2010


Today there will be...

No more fighting about which pretty dress to wear.

No more arguing about which comes first, Sponge Bob or brushing your teeth.

No more pleading for last minute trips to the potty.

No more missing the train.

No more wrestling with car seats.

No more Jonas Brothers > Howard Stern.

No more ponytails.

No more sunscreen application.

No more wiping boogers on the back of my leather seats.

No more "I HATE YOU!" or "YOU'RE SO MEAN!" before 7am.

Today I take my freedom back.

I proclaim it like George Michael.

I will wear it proudly, like Rupaul would don a tube top and a pair of pink hot pants.

I will stake my flag of manhood in the ground like a suburban Iwo Jima.

Today the kids go to Camp.

Ahhhh sweet camp, how I love thee.

Camp... Home of lice infested follicles, wort riddled little fingers and toes and bathing suits soaked with urine. You have rescued me. You have plucked my soul from the dark and hopeless vortex of parenthood and fireman's carried it back to this fleshy vessel of self that it once inhabited.

Camp, you complete me.

You had me at "$4,000? what are you fucking nuts?"

How could I have measured the importance of your arrival. What a gross miscalculation I have made. I apologize for balking at the cost of your services. I am ashamed but grateful. I feel humbled to kneel at your feet.

You are the Messiah of summer.

The little yellow bus makes it's rounds like the angel of death, claiming all of the neighborhood's first born children.

It shuttles them to a summer wonderland, filled with dirt and tether ball courts. They run free without leashes, like a giant dog park for kids.

They eat $4,000 cheese sandwiches and Italian Ices.

They sing songs that make no sense. They learn how to make houses out of Popsicle sticks.

They see other kid's wieners, big and small.

Camp builds character.

Camp saves lives. Our lives.

Camp gives parents their freedom back.

48 days of dignity.