Yesterday, I walked right past a baby robin, perched on the garden flag, keeping perfectly still. My husband noticed it, sitting there trying not to be seen, and pointed it out to me. We decided that with two cats and a dog in the yard, it might be a bad idea to call attention to it, and so we went on about our merry business. A few minutes later, we heard it hopping about in the azalea bushes, which also attracted the attention of one cat and the dog. The one cat moved to make a quick snack of it, while at the same time the dog came from the other direction to see what all the racket was. My husband was able to reach the bird in time, and with a little encouragement and a whole lot of fear, that baby bird did what God had designed it to do — fly. I watched and applauded as it gained lift over the back yard, with the dog in hot pursuit, and cleared the privacy fence.
And so it is with Spawn.
My mother and I drove down to camp on Friday and picked Spawn up. As much as I ardently and fervently hoped that Spawn would enjoy camp, I was a bit nervous about what kind of experience the kid had had. Turns out, I needn’t have worried quite so much. The kid had an amazing time at camp. And wants to go back next year.
Score one for budding independence.
Spawn is exhausted, of course, but the experience was a good one and the kid wants to make sure we sign up for two weeks of camp next year. I’ve already washed the camp sheets and towels and stored them away for next time. We’re shopping around for an inexpensive digital camera, too.
This could be the start of something wonderful.