Right now my older son is away at Camp Clair, the annual summer event my sister holds at her home for all her school-aged nieces and nephews.
“We’re going to miss you when you’re at camp,” I told our older son the day before he left.
“You’re going to miss me more than I’m going to miss you,” he said.
But by bed time he asked, “Is three days and three nights a long time?” This is how long Camp Clair will be this year.
“Not such a long time,” I said. “And you’ll be with your cousins.”
“I’m going to miss you. Are you going to miss me?” he asked yesterday on our drive up there.
“Yes, we’ll miss you, but Aunt Clair will take good care of you and you’ll have a good time.”
Now the house seems a little too quiet. Our younger son knew it would be. On the drive back home, he suggested we go somewhere else. There was no giggling at the dinner table. No one to compete with him for wrestle time with daddy. No one to ride around the parking lot with after dinner. He has asked several times about his big brother. For him, three days and three nights is a long time.