On blossoming

Over the years I’ve kept some or more of my grandchildren during summers. It’s what grandmothers do. They generally hung out here at Cousin Camp, or I enrolled them en masse in some activity.

Last summer I reevaluated what to do with the two girls, both with strong personalities; the older unwilling to relinquish her perceived authority as the bigger sister, and the younger straining against domination. I split them up.

Laura went to acting camp, started art lessons, went to archery camp (which we both voted a complete bust) and rounded out her summer with band camp. All within a ten mile radius of home! Drama camp is immediately after the close of school. I was not delivered the same little girl I dropped off. She spoke up. She enunciated. She was animated.  It was the prelude to a new movement, and the curtain is nowhere near dropping.

Mrs. P showed her how to draw what she saw and imagined, and she went from sketch pads of cartoon foxes to a real portfolio. Laura channeled her borderline obsessive compulsive tendencies into a nightly half hour of disciplined trumpet practice, and became the only seventh grader in jazz band. She still cares about her sister’s opinion of her nail polish, but not of her friends.

I’m smiling broadly today. Laura only asked twice today when we would leave for acting camp. I didn’t bother to take my camera, or even pull out my phone. I probably don’t embarrass her, but why push it. She did let me carry her pillow, but managed the big duffel bag and sleeping bag through check in and lice check.

She tried to dismiss me outside the dormitory, but I held tight to the pillow and trailed on in. We met the room leader, I traded the pillow for a hug and she didn’t look back. I drove home with the windows down, smelling the damp green and the blossoming trees. Laura will have a very good week, and be a match for whatever part she lands.