The 11th commandment-summer camp

I haven’t been as proactive about booking play dates for Levi as I was with Asher. Levi often tags along to my coffee mornings with other mom friends who have dropped their older children off at school or else we just hang out. He’d enjoy a music class or something, I’m sure of it.

I wouldn’t mind meeting some more stay-at-home mothers with kids. Many of them have husbands who work long hours or travel and leave them at home all alone to raise the children and manage the household. I know they work hard to keep it together. They’re unappreciated and lonely. They could use a sympathetic ear. A glass of wine. A small but meaningful compliment. A full-body, hot oil massage. I’m just the girl to help. It would be my way of giving back to the community. I’m sure Gabriella would approve of my altruistic campaign to rescue my sisters in the suburbs from despair when I have so much to offer. But I digress.

When I received an email from a mom I have only just met asking if Levi and I would like to come over for a play date with her toddler, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to book something specifically for him. She greeted me at her door with what has become the standard protocol. “Hi! Come in. So sorry for the mess!” We all say it though we don’t really mean it. Who are we kidding? It’s enough to dress and feed the little buggers let alone clean up after them throughout the day.

Two minutes into the play date, it was clear that Levi had absolutely no interest in this new friend. He followed their cat around for a while and then sat himself in front of the toy storage bins and proceeded to pull everything out of each bin and bury himself in a pile of toys. “Levi! You’re making a big mess. Are you going to help me clean it up?” “No!” No surprise there. I had to say it, anyway. It’s part of the same mommy protocol as “Sorry for the mess.”

Eventually, the mom and I were able to chat here and there in between toddler interruptions.

Mom: What are you doing with your kids this summer?

D: Asher’s going camp, and Levi and I are going to hang out at the pool.

M: Which camp? Yids-R-Us?*

*There is no camp called Yids-R-Us (that I know of), but there is a Jewish day camp around here that is well-attended and in no need of PR.

D: No, he’s going to stay at his pre-school’s camp. You?

M: My older one is going to go to Batik-in-the-Woods**.

**Um, there's no Batik-in-the-Woods camp, either.

D: That’s not a Jewish camp, is it?

M: No, but it may as well be. I don’t know a single Jewish family that doesn’t send their kids to camp.

And neither do I. What is it about Jews and camp? Is it because of the law in the Talmud that tells us that we must teach our children how to swim? No, I’m not making that up. But the fact that you even question whether or not it’s true leads me to believe that it is not a very well known law, and, therefore, that is probably not the primary reason for sending Jewish kids to camp.

Perhaps, we Jews all have some sort of cellular memory of camping out in the desert after we were slaves in Egypt- living in tents, cooking over an open fire, whining “when can we go home?”
Passover is next week, and we’ll all be sitting at our seder tables retelling the story of our escape from Pharaoh and our 40 year stint as refugees in the desert. Is it a coincidence that camp registration begins at the same time that we Jews are reconnecting with our camping roots?

I don’t know why the rest of my people do it, but I will send Asher to camp because that is what I know. It’s tradition! That and the thought of 3 months of unscheduled and unstructured time with my kids all day, every day is enough to make me want to pack up and head right back to the desert.

Happy Passover, and don’t forget to submit your camp applications!