It was her first camp. She was staying with her colleagues in a warm house for three days. Bok (11) was really looking forward to it, but also found it interesting who she would come into the room with, whether she would get homesick and whether she could bring cuddly toys with her.
We took it to school, ticked off our list of essentials in a suitcase, and the sleeping bag is loose. In the schoolyard, parents took pictures of different groups of children. The teacher quickly solved the problem of a classmate who was sick with cars and had forgotten her pills. “It’ll be all right,” he waved to her parents, “we’ll put her on top and I still have a plastic bag somewhere in case anything goes wrong.”
The program is extensively explained, planned and discussed. The children knew with whom they were sitting in the car, with whom they were sleeping in the hall, and what they were going to eat. Bok joined her classmates, and we chatted to some of the other parents. We totally missed the official farewell moment.
Every evening, around 9:30 pm, Bock made a WhatsApp video call. I saw a bedroom full of ripped open suitcases and bags and a daughter turned into a zombie. I got some brief information about what she went through. “I walked for hours, mud, slip, traffic jam.” Little fragments of the day, between screaming girls in the dormitory.
She returned three days later. She was limping, her voice gone. Her bags weren’t blue, they were dark black. She was picking up, sleeping, laying on the couch, wasn’t hungry, and vomited all over the bathroom before bed. She explained, “Lisa and Dex weren’t doing well either, maybe the burgers weren’t so good.”
Bok had eaten hamburgers, chips and pancakes. Combined with the kilos of candy they shared and the 6 hours of sleep a night it was just too much. I warned my husband before going to bed: “Tomorrow we will eat very healthy food.”
I started with zucchini, eggplant and tomatoes. We tried to put Puk to bed in the afternoon and helped her with every cry. Hug her more, said her little brother Olle (8 years old), he missed her. “If you’re still hanging like that on Monday, skip one day,” I said, annoyed that my kid was being completely demolished at such a frantic pace, and at the same time happy that he had such a good time.
Teen at home
Keeping her house turned out to be unnecessary. After a weekend relaxing on the couch, color appeared in her cheeks again and she was able to walk and talk normally again. Losing your voice, sleeping for hours, vomiting: that was proof that it was a really great party. For us, it was immediately a good idea of what awaits us with a teenager at home.
He promises to be crazy.
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