Parenting
By Emily Taylor
Updated: June 9, 2023
Originally Published: Aug. 10, 2020
My oldest child, Ava, has always marched to the beat of her own drum. A true introvert, she finds solace in her own company and doesn’t seem to mind one bit. Despite being invited to a variety of middle school gatherings and having a circle of friends, she rarely feels the need to forge connections with those who don’t pique her interest. Nevertheless, she is far from lonely. Adults often enjoy engaging her in discussions about history and literature. In many ways, she’s an old soul trapped in a young person’s body.
This has been her nature from the start. Back in kindergarten, she was engrossed in conversations about the tragic fates of renowned figures: Abraham Lincoln, JFK, and Martin Luther King Jr. By third grade, she was heartbroken over Anne Frank’s story, questioning how such cruelty could befall a child. In fourth grade, her school librarian made special accommodations due to her voracious appetite for books—historical topics like the bubonic plague and the Great Depression filled her reading list. By fifth grade, she highlighted two Christmas wish list items: a poster of Nelson Mandela and one of Malala Yousafzai, her personal heroes. I ordered both, framed them, and now they proudly hang in her room.
Naturally, I beam with pride at her interests. Yet, there’s a challenge in keeping a child like Ava entertained—she’s not easily impressed by the usual kid favorites (though she does enjoy Minecraft). School is her jam, and she excels, but summer presents a different story. Traditional camps don’t appeal to her; the idea of bonding over macramé or basketball with strangers sends her into a spiral of anxiety. Meanwhile, her younger sister frolics joyfully with friends under the watchful eye of junior counselors, while Ava’s eyes well up at the mere suggestion of similar activities. “Please, Mom, don’t make me!” she begs in a hushed tone.
I’ve occasionally insisted she try these camps, but it rarely ends well. I’ve learned to pay attention to her cues.
This summer, after a month of engaging classes like “Civil War History,” “Writers’ Academy,” and “Strategic War Games”—where she was the only girl reenacting World War II strategies—Ava approached me. “After these classes, I don’t want any more camp stuff. It’s been great, but now I want a week of you.”
“A week of me?” I echoed. “What would we do?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “Just hang out. Visit the bookstore. Stop by the coffee shop. Walk the dogs. Chat.”
As a stay-at-home mom and freelance writer, summer often feels like a hectic whirlwind of deadlines and driving kids around. My instinct was to dread the thought of spending more time with my daughter, honestly wishing for a bit of personal space as May turned to June. “Won’t you be bored with your old mom?” I questioned.
“Nope,” she assured me, her confidence unwavering.
So, I decided to shift my perspective. Instead of trying to juggle everything, I embraced the idea of spending a week dedicated to Ava. After dropping her sister off at camp, Ava took the front seat for the first time, and we waved her off with well wishes. We then visited a local café—me sipping my latte while she enjoyed her lemonade—as we discussed the latest news.
On another afternoon, we hit the Apple Store, where she engaged in a deep conversation about software with one of the Genius Bar staff—much to my amazement. Our week was filled with trips to the vet for the dogs, gardening, and browsing through bookstores, where we could lose ourselves in literary bliss. We grabbed lunch, tackled some laundry together, and explored a nearby town. Ava set the pace, and I followed her lead.
It was a fantastic week, and Ava proved to be delightful company. More than just a chance for her to learn something new, I found I learned a valuable lesson myself. I often view the long summer days as a challenge, desperately searching for activities to keep them busy, while I carve out precious minutes of solitude. During our Camp Mom experience, I relinquished control and allowed my daughter to dictate the schedule, something I hadn’t done in years. It was refreshing to actually take a break, which is a rarity for a mom.
Together, we wandered, browsed, chatted, and let the days drift by. Our camp didn’t yield any impressive crafts or trophies, but perhaps that was the point. Ava declared it her favorite week of the summer, and I couldn’t agree more.
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In summary, taking a week for just me and Ava turned out to be a rewarding experience. We filled our days with simple pleasures, and it reminded me that sometimes the best moments come from just being present.