Happy Campers

I'm childless until Sunday.

Woo-hoo! Salads every night!

A true sign of growing older, I guess, is being happy that the kids aren't around so that I can eat healthier.

I don't feed my kids a steady diet of junk food, mind you, but when the kid palattes outnumber the grownup ones by 2-to-1, it does impact one's menu choices.

They rode off to camp this morning at around 9. This is their third year at this particular camp. There's been a world of difference in my life in the past three years, but I've done my best to keep things with my kids on an even keel.

All things considered.

But it's worth noting that when you're a kid, three years is an exceeingly long time, and much changes simply because it's in the nature of kids to change.

Put it this way: To me, three years is a little bit more than six percent of my total life. For my kids, it's about 30% on average*. Thirty percent of my life ago, we were all wondering what this guy from Arkansas would do in the White House.

In 2005, my kids were like velcro. They stuck to my hips, and didn't stray far. When it came time to load them onto their buses (one for the boys, one for the girls), I spent the next half-hour dashing back and forth between the two, smiling, waving, blowing kisses, and mouthing "I love you" to those two scared, brave little faces until the buses pulled out.

Even last year, although they knew some kids, they tended to hover near me, hugging and holding my hands.

This year? Pfft. See ya, Dad. Make sure the trunks get loaded, ok?

Well. it was almost like that. Even though they met up with their friends, I couldn't just leave. I asked. No, I had to stay. A respectful distance away, of course, but still where they could see me. And while they were on the buses I made a game out of whose friends would say "Your Dad is weird" first.**

So they're gone, with far fewer smiles and waves to me, but with much happier faces over all. And that's good. Because these kids aren't really mine. They never were. They're just two bright comets that came by, and even now are arcing gracefully and inexorably away.

As it should be.

And so I have a week to myself. Well, mostly to myself.

I have a date on Thursday.

With...you know...a lady.

Stay tuned.

yeharr

*Which is why, in my opinion, time seems to move faster as we get older. It seems like it takes less time to get through a year because each year is an increasingly smaller percentage of our lives.

**My daughter's, of course. Although they also laughed at me more.