When my twins arrived from Europe they hit the ground running. First was the rehearsal and pageant. Then they were counselors for a camp for young children. Being the most experienced staff members they were paired with the youngest group, the ones who want to attach themselves to your leg and hold your hand, except that you only have two and there are ten of them.

 

The next week was an overnight week long camp for older teens, and the brief conversations I have had with them about it included words like "intense" and "life changing". I do know it included a ropes course, and college visits, with very little sleep.

 

Shoe horned between weeks two and three there was a community celebration of Independence Day. It was homespun, with children on bicycles and fire trucks honking. I like that the border between paraders and watchers is fluid. People with enthusiasm move. Those who prefer to sit bring lawn chairs. 

 

The third week of sequential camps included younger teens, and an uptick in exuberance for its own sake. There was a treasure hunt, roller skating, and those emotions that crop up amidst adolescent girls. 

 

I suppose that the first few days after campers have gone home will involve a crash. Hopefully not the cars that ferry them, but rather the exhaustion that must follow an adventure. I do not know if there is a collective noun for teenagers. Perhaps it could be a popcorn, or a white water. 

 

I will be gentle with my girls as they recalibrate from almost a month of output. I can offer fruit and sandwiches, with a vase of flowers to quiet their overworked spirits. We will go for an amble in the woods, and they can tell stories about it as they wish. 

 

What surprises me is that there was a time when I had as much energy. Maybe. Three camps is a lot. But I did mother nine children, though never all at once. These days my place is sitting on the sidelines, cheering.