Camp Idontwannamakehimgo

My son has a field trip coming up. I'm every teacher's nightmare parent, the one who forgets to sign the agenda, the one who forgets to turn in permission slips or book orders, the one who didn't remember conferences and never reads the newsletters (that's actually not true; I just don't remember what's in them). So for once I was on time and got a permission slip and money turned in on time. Yay me. Then I find myself accidentally reading a recent newsletter that says the field trip is to a camp and it's for THREE days.

First of all, why do grade school kids need three days for a field trip? Is there seriously nothing else they could be learning from INSIDE their classroom? God knows I sent enough school supplies at the beginning of the year to keep them coloring for decades. Why a camp? Why more than one day? Why are they trying to take my child out of the comfort bubble of the school into the wide open world?

We are the most overprotective parents you have ever seen. None, not ONE, of our children (even when we didn't like them very much) ever went to a babysitter. Other than my parents, my sister, or another relative, my children never ever ever had a babysitter. Yes, we were that paranoid. A lot of it was 'cuz we love them so much, but a lot more was because I was a preteen/teen babysitter and let me tell you, I do NOT remember any kids or babies around while I raided fridges, made phone calls, and watched cable TV for $2/hour. No way in hell was I letting a loser like my own young self anywhere near my babies. Or toddlers. Or kids.

We have gone on every single field trip each one of our kid's classes went on. Usually not as an official chaperone because the point was to guard MY child, not be in charge of five other brats I don't even know. No, my purpose was to stalk my child through whatever venue his class happened to be exploring. The scariest one to date was a whitewater rafting field trip, and my husband took the day off and went with him so I knew it was doable and didn't have to tell my child a lie about him being allergic to white water.

But now here I am looking at a note about a parent's meeting (which I missed, of course) and realizing I already coughed up the money and permission slip that both pretty much imply I'm okay with this whole trip thing (I'm not) and I guess it also suggests I knew what it was about (I don't). My son, of course, is excited. I, of course, am petrified. Camps are where children drown, get hurt, get lost, get molested, or get killed by hockey-mask-wearing murderers (or their moms). The things that can go wrong are endless, as is my imagination. I'm trying to figure out how to make my son sick on a certain date in the future or maybe I can call in sick that day, take him to Atlantic City, and we can call it a field trip of modern day civics and sociology. I really, really, really, REALLY don't want him to go, and I don't know how to make myself let him. It doesn't matter how old your kids get, how self-sufficient they become, or even the fact that once their shoes are bigger than mine, that's a sign the cutting of the apron strings is probably far overdue. But he is still my baby, and as I cling to that pebble in my hand, I just don't see letting him snatch it from me anytime soon. Maybe next year. Maybe never. Definitely not yet.