Camp is next week, and I'll be losing two of my babies, one of them for the first time. As the resident Camp Expert, Alex has captured Michael's attention and helped build his anticipation with tales of ziplines, water slides, camp pranks, any-time-of-day snacks, and late nights.
The other day at lunch, she recounted a tale the camp speaker told last year about his first experience at camp when he was in third grade. Apparently, like any other well-intentioned mother, this man's mother sent him to his first camp with enough clean underwear for each day he was gone (maybe, if she is like me, even a couple of extra pair). He told of his return home and of his mother's dismay when she discovered he had brought home all of his underwear...clean (and, no, like any normal third grader--or person, for that matter--he did not spend his camp days doing laundry).
The boys found this story hysterical, if only for the mere fact that it contained the word "underwear" therein. And I could see past Michael's sparkly eyes right into his thoughts which were processing a few thousand a moment. "Michael," I said, "you very well may not shower while you're at camp," (I can only assume that the majority of the smelly campers who returned to our church last year did not shower) "but please, please at least change your underwear every day."
He just grinned at me. And since that lunchtime tale, I've heard much whispered discussion about the Underwear Story. I'm crossing my laundry detergent-stained fingers that the boy will commit some crime of hygiene against his normal predilection and actually change his britches a couple of times.