Day 1

Today was the first day of our second annual “Camp Jeje”. My camper returned taller and more handsome, with more ideas (“North Carolina is near of South Carolina”), a larger selection of potential vegetables to be eaten, and less patience for my tricks (having also forgotten to buy milk (see forgotten cheese below), I tried to pass off soy milk with extra Ovaltine mixed in, only to have it sniffed and declared “yucky”, gluten-free chicken nuggets rejected by laser-beam eyes that can tell nuggets are minus white flour/hydrogenated fat elixir, and salt-free Del Monte green beans (bought apparently while not wearing glasses) laughed at even though I caught the mistake and sprinkled salt liberally).

Kerri and I drove Hayes to camp Harbor Haven this morning. Hayes seemed a little bit tense, going over and over Mommy coming back in two Fridays, Mommy not picking him up at camp, Jeje picking him up at camp, Hayes demanding to go back to the hotel that night (just because one is autistic doesn’t mean one doesn’t appreciate a good breakfast buffet). As we got closer to camp, he began worrying more loudly, and my heart started beating more quickly. I reflected that he has no choice but to trust the world: to trust the stranger opening the car door and taking him inside, trust what is inside the door, trust that Jeje is coming back like she says she is, trust she won’t be 10 mins. late (like she was today on the very first day of after camp pick-up).

Hayes was gently but firmly removed from the back seat, plugged his ears with his fingers (his version of nervous hands in pockets) and half chanted/half yelled, “Hayes went to Camp Honey Bee!!! Hayes went to Camp Honey Bee!!! past the line of teenage counselors waiting to escort each nervous camper through that same door of trust. Camp Honey Bee was last week’s camp, where campers are encouraged to “BEE NICE, BEE FRIENDLY, BEE HAPPY!” Mel Gibson obviously didn’t know about it growing up. The counselors smiled sympathetically but looked non-plussed at us, as if they had already seen many a more dramatic entrance than that provided by Honey Bee alums. I think every time Hayes goes through a door, it must be a little like turning the corner in the Fun House at the State Fair of Texas. You just can’t possibly know what’s coming next.

I was also then gently but firmly encouraged to please keeping moving through the car-line by Miss Robin, the camp director who kindly let Hayes come for two weeks instead of the required three because she also keeps her nephew for a week each summer so her sister can get a break, and I had already raised her to two at our aunty poker table.

I drove around the corner and we sisters shed a few tears together, I guess just in case Hayes wasn’t (shedding any). Just in case he had dropped his Harbor Haven backpack containing (1) towel, (1) suit, (1) brown bag lunch marked “peanuts” optimally instructed by my sister to contain (1) cheese, (1) fruit, (2) cracker items, (1) pkg. of raisins, and the only pkg. of Scooby Snacks left after Jack and I polished off the rest of the box the night before camp. (They are like toddler cocaine. Just saying.)

In case you’re more anal retentive than me and are wondering about the “peanuts” labeling, I forgot to buy the (1) cheese item and so a small container of “Jiff to Go” went instead (and came home untouched. I hope he just didn’t want to sit quarantined with the other nut consumers and chose to forego his protein in favor of allergen-free seating in the sold-out section.)

I then went to NYC for my friend Jo’s 60th birthday lunch, and I drove home quickly to pick up Jack (when Hayes was upset that morning, I had promised Hayes that Jack would come). Since Jack is 15 and way busy for carpool detail, I have blown my ace card on the first day of camp, and that’s a little disconcerting. Thankfully Madeline, only 13, comes home from her own sleepover camp on Friday, and I still can boss her into riding with me (while she rolls her eyes and reminds me that I laugh too loud and have the nerve to hum and tap my fingers on the steering wheel while driving).

Hayes was delivered back out the Harbor Haven door and skipped to my car with his fingers back in his ears. He looked glassy-eyed and tired, but his head counselor Ali assured me while buckling him in that he had had a great first day, leading other campers in a hearty chorus of
“H---- B-------” to his new friend, Andrew. Wow. Nothing can normally send Hayes packing faster than someone singing that song which shall not be named (it’s like sharp nails on his slightly obsessive chalkboard), and today he was a tiny Lawrence Welk for his new pal Andrew.

He refused to answer any queer questions Jack and I pummeled him with…”Did you like it? What was your favorite part? Did you meet any new friends?” He ignored us entirely for the 15 minute ride home, looking right past us and sleepily smiling in that way that used me make Wendy and me say we thought he surely saw fairies. He giggled quietly every block or so, and only commented to himself, “Yup, just like the Farmer’s Market, uh-huh….”

We came home, went swinging (and sweating) out front way too many times for this menopausal journaler (but I am ready for him this year with chains on my doors and the alarm set to chime every time the door opens, and I’ve warned the neighbors to please return any blonde haired/blue-eyed Hummel figurines they might find skipping through their back yards or entering through their front doors).

Hayes continued his winning day by pooping on the potty, ate a hearty puddle of ketchup using a fork for dinner (see above rejected dinner notes) , and took a bubble bath. Other than the small piece of free-lance poop found floating in the bathtub, I think it was a highly successful first day.

Yup, just like the Farmer’s Market, uh-huh….