My eldest child has never been one to blend in with the crowd. She thrives on her own, comfortable in her solitude, and isn’t bothered by it at all. While she has a circle of friends and is invited to middle school gatherings, she doesn’t feel the need to connect with every peer that comes her way. In fact, she often prefers the company of adults, engaging in conversations about literature, history, and much more. It’s as if she possesses an old soul, trapped in a young girl’s frame.
This penchant for deeper topics has been evident since her early school days. In kindergarten, she was most animated discussing the impactful lives of great leaders like Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King, Jr. By third grade, she was grappling with the haunting tale of Anne Frank, questioning how such cruelty could be inflicted on a child. Her love for history continued to blossom; in fourth grade, the school librarian had to make special allowances for her as she checked out a plethora of books focused on significant historical events, from the bubonic plague to the Revolutionary War. By fifth grade, her Christmas wishlist prominently featured posters of her heroes—Nelson Mandela and Malala Yousafzai. I proudly framed those posters, and they now adorn her bedroom walls.
While I take immense pride in her intellectual pursuits, keeping her entertained during the summer months can be a daunting task. Traditional summer camps don’t appeal to her; the thought of engaging in arts and crafts or sports with unfamiliar kids sends her into a mild panic. Unlike her younger sister, who dances joyfully under the sun with her friends, my oldest daughter finds the idea of sleepaway camps utterly anxiety-inducing. “Please, Mom, don’t make me go,” she implores, her eyes brimming with tears.
I’ve tried pushing her, but that rarely yields positive outcomes. After much reflection, I’ve learned to respect her preferences. This summer, following a series of on-campus classes—“History of the Civil War,” “Writers’ Academy,” and “Strategic War Games,” where she was the only girl in attendance—she turned to me and said, “Once these classes are over, I want a week of just you and me.”
“A week of us?” I asked, curious about her vision.
“Yeah,” she replied, “Just hanging out. Visiting the bookstore, grabbing coffee, walking the dogs, and chatting.”
As a stay-at-home mom who balances freelance writing and editing, summers can feel overwhelming with deadlines and shifting schedules. Initially, I hesitated at her request, wondering if she might grow bored spending so much time with me. But she assured me she wouldn’t be.
So, I decided to embrace her request. Instead of juggling camps and activities, I declared a week of “Mom Camp.” We dropped her sister off at her camp—my eldest riding shotgun for the first time—and then headed to a local café to sip on lattes and lemonade while discussing current events. One afternoon, we ventured to the Apple Store, where she confidently engaged in a technical discussion that left me slightly baffled. We took care of the dogs, tended to the garden, and browsed multiple bookstores, losing ourselves in the joy of reading.
I allowed her to guide our days, and it turned out to be a wonderful experience. We didn’t create any tangible crafts or trophies, but we shared meaningful moments that deepened our bond. My daughter declared it her favorite week of the summer, and I found it to be quite possibly mine as well.
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In summary, sometimes the greatest joys come from simply being present with our children, embracing the opportunity to connect without an agenda.
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