Why Moms Don't Go On Scout Camp-Outs

Friday night Adam and I drove a van load of boys to the mountains so they could camp and ride 50 miles on a bike.  (50 miles?  That makes me tired.)

The boys have been friends for years and have had their share of bonding experiences.  They were in high spirits with school almost out for the summer (finally) and enjoying being together.

At one point in their conversation I reminded them there was a lady present.  They said, "Oh, sorry," because they're good boys, though they are 14.

As we left the freeway and drove on a narrow mountain road, I felt anxiety about leaving my boy.  The day had been sunny but was now grey and cloudy (surprised?).  The tall trees met over the road, diffusing any light that still remained.  It may look picturesque but is stifling to my wide-open-spaces-desert-born sensibilities.  I looked out the window at the gloom and told Adam, "I don't want to leave Braeden here."

"Why not?"

"I hate camping."

I think Adam just smiled at me.

The boys tumbled out when we got to the campsite and I asked my shorts and t-shirt wearing son if he'd remembered a jacket.

"Yes," he said patiently.

I stopped myself from throwing my arms around his ankles and dragging him back to the van.

When it was time to leave, Adam, the seasoned scout camp-out parent, tossed a "See ya" in Braeden's directions and was rewarded with a nod from our first born.

I insisted on a hug.  Yes, in front of his friends.  They understood; they have moms.

I said, "I don't want to leave you here Braeden."

"Why not?" he asked, as surprised as his dad had been with my hesitation.

"It's cold and dreary," I said (and I hate camping).

"I've slept in an open field in pouring rain," he said, "And had fun."

Comforting.

Adam and I headed back to civilization in the suddenly silent van.  We had dinner at MOD Pizza thanks to a hot tip from Jill (delicious) and I got to practice this phase of motherhood I'm struggling to master.

The leaving them to fend for themselves.