I've Been Dumped.

Maddie is at camp this week. Some other time, I'll tell all about what a true Act of God that is, but for now, I just want to write about being dumped. Believe it or not, camp and being dumped DO belong together.

Maddie is twelve years old, and though this is not her first time to go to camp, it's her first time to be there for this long. Many of the parents visit mid-way through, and Maddie had asked me to come, so I drove down to the camp to have dinner and spend a little time with her tonight.

When I arrived, the kids were standing in line, waiting for the cafeteria to open. Maddie waved me over, hugged me tightly, and promptly began begging me to stay for the night: "Please, please, please" she pleaded, giving me her best puppy-dog face. I really was caught off-guard by that, because she'd seemed so independent lately. She spends most of her time at home by herself in her room. She counted down the days until camp, packed for herself (and left nothing out!), and barely even seemed to care when I said good-bye on drop-off day. Now she was begging me to spend the night: "There's one more bunk left in our cabin - you can sleep there!"

Wondering what prompted all this, I simply told her that I hadn't come prepared to spend the night, but we could at least enjoy the next few hours together. Then I quickly changed the subject to get her mind off of the begging. I used this "diversion tactic" when she was a toddler, and now that she's an adolescent I've had to take it out of the back of my tool box, dust it off, and use it again. It has been especially handy when she's having a diabetic low and becomes insistent about... well, anything, really. Thank God, diversion is like riding a bike: you never really forget how to do it. "So, does EVERYONE have feathers and neon colors in their hair this summer?" I asked. Worked like a charm.

So we waited in line and talked about camp. The line moved at blinding speed... for a snail... until we finally entered the cafeteria, where the air conditioning hit us just moments before the familiar smell of cafeteria food. You know the stuff: breaded chicken breast patties that have been pulverized until they're so flat that cooking them ensures not a drop of moisture remains... runny mashed "potatoes" that we all know started out as some kind of powder in a box (and are you SURE those black specks are flecks of pepper?)... and the saving grace, a piece of chocolate cake: a sign that someone really does care. As Maddie recited a litany of all the injuries and illnesses experienced at camp so far, the familiar faces of other parents and youth workers occasionally passed by, and we nodded our greetings. One even enthusiastically announced that I’d come on the right evening for dinner: “This is the GOOD meal of the week. We had mystery meat on Monday!”

Then, Maddie had a low. She had a 48, the lowest number I’ve seen in months. Amazingly, she was coherent throughout, and though she fumbled with her supplies a bit, she was able to eat two packages of Smartees and raise her blood sugar up to 84 in just ten minutes. We got our lunch trays and found some seats in the cafeteria.

Do you know how LOUD a cafeteria is when it’s full of boys and girls between the ages of 8 and 13? Maddie didn’t seem to mind, and that’s what mattered to me. We figured up Maddie’s carbs and pumped her insulin while discussing the various colors of tee shirts campers are to wear from day to day.  Then we poured our cups into the bucket, put our forks into the basket, and handed our trays to a young man who dumped their contents into a trash can and banged them against it until everything (except the mashed “potatoes”) was gone. Now we had some free time, so we headed back to the girls’ cabin, where several of the girls were already hanging out.

Have you ever heard of a “poot war”? Unfortunately, I have. I don’t think I’ll bother going into any detail on that one… Suffice it to say, Maddie was busily engaged with her friends in an activity that I could/would not join. I sat on an ice chest and visited with another mom until it was time for the worship service.

We all filed into the tabernacle and looked for seats. Surprisingly, Maddie didn’t try to sit with the other girls; she asked me to follow her up toward the front, and we sat in the midst of strangers in the third row. We sang worship songs, watched a skit, and listened to the pastor talk about God’s power to do the impossible in our lives. I thought about how much I’m depending on that power to get us through learning to manage Maddie’s diabetes at all, and especially during puberty. As if adolescence weren’t hard enough, let’s add a life-threatening disease into the mix that is completely aggravated by hormonal imbalances! Yes, that pastor was speaking to ME as much as he was to the kids.

When the service was over, Maddie grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the concession stand. “We have to hurry! There’s gonna be a line!” We bought Skittles and a diet Dr Pepper and headed toward the cafeteria to wait for craft time and eat our snacks in the air conditioning. As we approached, some of Maddie’s friends came out of the cafeteria toward us. The conversation went something like this:

Maddie: “Hey, where are you going?”

Friend: “The craft they’re doing tonight is Frisbees. I don’t want to do Frisbees, so I’m just going to walk around.” Other friends nod in agreement.

Maddie: “Frisbees? Ugh.”

Friend: “Want to come walk around with us?”

Maddie (looking at me and our snacks): “Well, we were going to eat our snacks in the cafeteria in the air conditioning…”

Friend: “Okay, see you later.” (They begin walking away.)

Maddie: “Wait!” (She looks at me.) “Do you want to go walk around with them?”

I could tell that she wanted to walk with her friends, but she didn’t want to abandon me, so she was trying to find a compromise. I let her off the hook: “You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to let you go walk with your friends, and I’m going to head on back home.” And there wasn’t a drop of sarcasm!

Maddie smiled and said, “Okay, but first…” and then she hugged me, kissed me, and did our Eskimo/butterfly kisses, the way we do every night at bedtime. Then she ran off… and returned to do another set of hugs and kisses. “That one is for Daddy,” she called out as she ran off again to catch up to her friends.

My daughter is an adolescent, vacillating between hugging stuffed animals and wearing makeup. She’s ambivalent about boys, school, and hygiene. One minute she wants to hang out with me, and the next she wants to hang out with her friends. And that’s just what she should be right now. I’ve never been so happy to get dumped.