Social Moves

“Well…we moved to this little artsy-fartsy town to expand my son’s social horizons.” explained the mom to me when we were introduced at the cool hippie-dippy toy store in my town.

I am often amazed by the parental commitment so many moms have in this affluent suburb. This actually the third mom I have encounter who moved to Nyack because their kids wanted to live here. Barring burning crosses on our lawn or out and out violence—I would be hard pressed to move again unless it is to a beautiful Riverside Drive apartment with roof garden, views of the Hudson and working fireplace.
I would never consider moving because my daughter wanted to go to school with cooler kids. In fact—I think I mentioned we were stuck in the non-hippy-dippy, Red State school for the six LONG years of elementary school before being released into the middle school which has much more of the artsy-fartsy flavor of our little enclave of the super pseudo-liberals.

Still amazed by this act of selflessness on the part of the parents—I curiously asked…”Did you think of other options before moving? Like…
signing him up for a class in the Y or The Art Center that pulls kids from all over the county…or, I know it is daring, going into the city with him? Camp…camp is another good option—kids come from all over to go to camps in the middle of nowhere. “ Because frankly—that would be the most I would be willing to do for The Beast’s “social horizons”.

The mother stared at me in amazement. Apparently no one ever did this little problem solving exercise with her. “Camp” she murmured….”I loved camp. That is a good idea.” Hopefully this bit of Lazy Mom Café wisdom will help the mom to realize that no matter where you move your son—he is still the same person. Classes might help.

Reading Camp

“I’m thinking READING CAMP.” Said Ms. Seize the Moment in a hushed, anxious tone during one of those motherhood insecurity phases before you stop reading those idiotic child rearing books that list baby/toddler milestones.

“I am thinking that you better start sharing whatever drugs you are taking.”I said with all the sympathy of a NYC Policeman.

“What? You don’t think reading camp is a good idea?” she said in sheer disbelief.

“Sweetheart—the girls are three. No one wants a little egghead reading War and Peace at four…except perhaps my brother. It just isn’t right. I am happy that The Beast has stopped gnawing on her board books. “

“Okay…okay—how about private swimming lessons at a hotel pool in New Jersey?”

“Back to my first point about the drugs--really—what have you been taking? Please go back to Feng Shui-ing your house…because some energy must be lodged in the crazy zone of your home….maybe a crystal or wind chime will release it.”

I don’t know about anyone else, but I read What to Expect When You’re Expecting like it was a Steven King novel so when someone gave me What to Expect: The First Year I tossed it. And What to Expect: The Toddler Years….please…like you don’t get ENOUGH advice when you have a kid.

Honestly—when getting gifts for new mothers—think wine or hard liquor.

What Happens at Camp--Stays at Camp

”NUDITY?” I queried the mother in-line ahead of me as I waited to pay one last bill in order to release The Beast from this camp in the middle of the wilderness.

“Oh yes...” the mother said nodding in a conspirator’s gesture —”on the boys side it is common practice to sprint across the field buck-naked from the shower house to the bunks…but I guess the girls hang out nude during most of their free time.”

“And just how does your 12 year old son know about this practice on the ‘Girls’ Side’ of the camp?” I ventured.

“Well” she explained to clear her son’s name “I told a friend about the camp because my son loves it here and her daughter came and the daughter was horrified by all the nudity on the girls’ side of the camp.”

The Beast is very closed mouth, unlike her mother. So any little insight into her world is welcome…usually…

Interesting, I thought, ...that explains the Beast and her fellow camp friends’ free and easy dancing through the YMCA locker room in nothing other than their towels...around their necks.

Cornering The Beast at home...I mentioned my new knowledge of the Girls Side at Camp. Apparently there was A LOT I did not know and for some reason the child was suddenly willing to divulge ALL such as the games that the older campers play. She started to describe one game that at first explanation sounded like a hybrid of Spin the Bottle, British Bull Dog and Tag. As my eyes glazed over as I tried, in vain, to erase the image of my baby kissing A BOY...the Beast starts to explain the game to me AGAIN...more slowly this time...since I was obviously not getting it. BUT I AM getting it...I am getting it all too well...I stop her....

“Please...please...” I say as I silenced my beautiful beast, who is now almost my height, with a kiss and a hug.

I tell her. “What happens at camp, stays at camp--let’s go see the new Harry Potter movie before you are too old for it. “