Comfort

I just realized that this is what I'm doing - indulging in (copious amounts of) comfort food to ease my concern over Abby being at sleepaway camp for the first time. Not only comfort food, but also comfort books (although I haven't gone so far as Eddings this time).

Circle the wagons; Abby's here!

My concern with Abby at camp isn't primarily oh-my-baby-is-gone; she's gone fairly often to her dad's and less often on overnights with friends or with one of her grandmothers. My concern is twofold, and neither reason is rational.

1) Last time she went camping she freaked out and had to be brought back home. Now, in all fairness this was two years ago and she didn't know ahead of time that there would be contact with the outside world and also that time was intended to be a week. This is two nights.
2) The nut thing. Irrational, because they have all sorts of protocols for the nut thing, certainly as much as her public school, and I know with my brain that she'll be fine.

So, yeah, irrational. But very real.

So on the way home from dropping her at camp, I stopped by one of my favorite places to get take out. Now, this is a place we discovered in what? 1980? A place I had on speed dial when pregnant with Lizzy. And I just ate rather too much moo shu pork and won ton soup, because they're a comfort.

So then I picked up Lizzy at Grandma's house (and brought Grandma some won ton) and just as I got there, we caught Lizzy spitting her juice out on Grandma's carpet. Why? She doesn't know, and we're mean because we put a four-year-old in time out and waaaaahhhhhh!

We worked out the consequences and started home.

I asked her why again, after she cooled down, and she said she wanted to see what would happen.

I said, "Didn't you know grandma would be angry?"

And she said, "I knowed it, but I wanted to be sure."

Such a scientist.

And life is normal again.