Moving Day

It's time to move along.

I started this blog in January of 2012, and for the past four years, it's been a companion that I've loved, often neglected, and used to share my observations on a variety of topics. I've shared many an embarrassing story, many a political opinion, and all the while, I've tried to do it in a spirit of laughter and love.

Today, I'm officially moving over to my new site, theamysituation.com.  Please follow me over and subscribe, and soon, I'll transition this blog to its well-deserved afterlife.

Thank you for your support, your encouragement, and your notes! You keep me going and I love you for that.

Amy

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

I warned you this would happen. I am about to bombard you with a few favors. I won't even apologize in advance because we ladies apologize way too often as it is.

Now that my book is actually written and complete (I still kind of can't believe that is a true statement), I have a list a mile long of goals to help get it where it needs to be. It's a long process, but the first part is that I have to move away from this blogging format into something more professional. I'll be transitioning to an actual website and will be using fancy dancy WordPress soon.

My mother in-law (God rest her amazing, hilarious, powerful soul) gifted me with birthday money several years ago and I used it to purchase a WordPress theme. It's all been sitting dormant since then because for me, WordPress is widely intimidating. I'm having a session with my gal pal Amy next week and I'm excited to make the move!

In the meantime, I'll be asking a few favors, and will eventually ask you to hop over to my new blog site when it's ready. For now, I'd love it if you like my new Facebook page, "The Amy Situation."
Soon, when time permits, I'll tell you the story of how that title came to be. Enough time has passed where it's safe to share, and it's pretty funny stuff.

Thank you all for your support during this exciting time! If you build it......

Step One: Write the Book

When I was in elementary school, one of my teachers entered me in a poetry contest for a kid's literary magazine. She didn't tell me about it, and several years later, a teacher pulled me out of class and took me to the principal's office where they handed me a copy of the magazine, and there was my oddball little poem about an aging leaf. It was called, "The Leaf." Man, was I clever. I also got a little check.

From that moment on, I knew that one day, I would write a book. I've always written and told stories, even when life and career took me in a lot of different directions. I have piles upon piles of what my family refers to as "giblets of paper" of partly-finished short stories, the beginning chapters of sappy novels, terrible poems about love lost, and loads of little notes like, "Two people sitting in a doctor's office. They both have aging parents. They fall in love." Or, "Man with large nostrils holding a women's magazine. He's chewing on a bagel." Stuff like that. A LOT of stuff like that.

I started my personal blog several years ago in an effort to write on a regular basis. It gets neglected on a regular basis, but it has been a great format to put together words and share ideas. At the nudging of a friend, I ended up writing for the Huffington Post, and though they don't pay a red cent and that irritates me to no end, it's an easy format for sharing ideas with larger audiences. It also allows me the pleasure of treading terribly cruel reader comments from grown men who live in their mother's basements and think women shouldn't be able to make choices about their bodies. 

So I try not to read the comments. A super amazing writer gave me that advice early on, and boy, she's right.

In 2014, I attended a blogging conference in New York. The decision to go was made at the last minute, and everyone in my family completely got on board. Like Billy Ray Cyrus, I left town with a satchel full of dreams, eager to learn and network and get inspiration to continue the book I've been working on for a very long time.

At the conference in the exhibit hall, I stumbled onto a booth called myintent.org. The mission of the My Intent Project is to be a catalyst for meaningful conversations and positive energy. On the spot, the owner, Chris Pan, asked me to pick a word that symbolized my intent so he could make it into a bracelet for me. I probably should have picked "peace" or "compassion" or something much more symbolic but I knew my word right away.

Book.

Life got in the way, but the inner voice to focus didn't go away at all. The book I originally started began to feel stale, and I decided to recommit. In February, I had a job that was slowly sucking my soul dry, so I left that job. I made the commitment to work part time as a freelance writer, and devote true energy and purpose to my book.

In February, I had a formal little ceremony with myself where I put on the intention bracelet and started setting goals. The bracelet certainly wasn't going to write the book for me. Aside from airport security and showers, I've worn it every day. I need to replace it with a new rope because it's getting mighty shabby. Every day I twist and turn it, and darn it if it hasn't helped me focus like crazy. 

I set a goal date of September 21 to complete the book after creating a competitive contest with a friend who is also writing a book. We agreed the end of summer was a reasonable goal, and I have to admit, I was pushing it pretty hard that last week. Obviously, procrastination is kind of a thing with me. With help from friends, I decided to shift the focus away from a step parenting book to a book of humorous essays. 

Last week, on September 21, I finished my book. I finished it! It's 211 pages and 29 chapters and I even wrote an intro and I finished! 

I have too many people to thank for being my dream-pushers. So many girlfriends who know how important it has been for me to complete a book. My amazingly patient husband, Tim. My stepchildren and my kids and my mother and sister and I could go on for days. Even if all I do is run a few copies and staple them together for friends and family, I feel very much like my dear friend Candace's daughter Kendall, who said when she was a very little kid, "I'm so proud of me."

It's very hard to say where things will go from here. Quite honestly, I'm realistic and I understand it may go nowhere. But I'm persistent. I like connecting with people. I have a lot of work to do to grow my audience and I'll likely start with those of you who've been kind enough to read my blogs for the past few years. Bear with me during periods where I get obnoxious and it appears I am self-serving. I know it comes with the territory, as I know quite a few writers, and they have to be self-serving and let's face it, some days, that is irritating. I mean, this entire post is about me. It's irritating, but stick with me and one day, you may be sitting and reading my book and having a laugh. That's my goal.

Enough about me. What is your intention? 

If I can help inspire you in any way, please reach me. Pick your word and make it happen. I'm proof that it's possible, if you just show up and do the work.

10 Ways to Make the Most of BlogHer16

I can't believe that tomorrow, I'll head to LA with one of my best gal pals to attend my second BlogHer conference. This will be my friend's first time, and it dawned on me that even though I've only been once, I have a few tips that can help make it less overwhelming. 

Have a great time, ladies! If you have other tips to add, please comment and share!

• Prepare yourself for an amazing, supportive community of women. Until BlogHer15, I will confess that I wasn't exactly keen on large groups of women. However, the women of BlogHer are the most positive, supportive group I've ever met. It's not about being catty and competitive; it's about encouraging others to achieve their dreams and meet their goals. The entire event feels like one gigantic group hug from your cool aunt who smells like nice perfume and baked cookies. 
• Download the BlogHer app. Look at the schedule ahead of time and prioritize so you don't get overwhelmed.  If you're with a friend, maximize having two of you and split up and share notes on sessions so you don't miss anything valuable. 
• Engage Socially. Rita Arens wrote this terrific blog on how to best engage socially.  Follow new bloggers and companies, and post nice things about them.  By scratching backs in a social sense, you'll find that people will be willing to scratch your back in return. It's a virtual love fest out there, ladies. If you have business cards, bring 'em, but it's no crime not to have cards. Many people choose not to have cards anymore. If you don't, be ready with an easy way to swap information with people you want to stay in touch with. You can take a photo of yourself with your blog title to pull up on your phone (I like the app Typorama). Make it easy for people to stay in touch. 
  
• Be kind to your feet. I'm a huge fan of cute heels but last year I was smart enough to pack some attractive but extremely comfortable shoes for the daytime events, and I was really glad I did. Bring several pairs of shoes so you give your feet a rest. Save your dancing shoes for the evening events!
• Get out of your comfort zone. Introduce yourself. Make new friends.  I'm extremely extroverted, but in social situations where I'm alone (I went alone last year), I can just as easily hide in my phone and avoid meeting new people. Last year I forced myself to keep my phone in my bag so I could meet new people, and I met some of the most amazing new friends that way. Many, many women attend BlogHer by themselves; just go to the parties and start networking and you'll have great new friends in no time.
• Pace yourself on the beverages. Last year, I saw a few girls on the first night who plastered, and I remember watching them and thinking they would be hating themselves the next day. And then damn it if I didn't have one too many after the second night when I discovered an open mic followed by karaoke. It's very easy to get swept up in the moment, but you need to maximize your time there, so do you best not to spend your time there nursing a hangover. Trust me!  At the very least, alternate with glasses of water. Your skin (and liver) will thank you the next day! 
• Bring an extra empty bag to haul home the freebies/giveaways.  I'm normally not a big fan of promotional items, but BlogHer brings some really fantastic companies and giveaways. Last year, I was so overloaded that I ended up giving a lot of my stuff away to a friend who lived in New York, and I still had to go buy an extra suitcase for the things I wanted to keep.  
• Challenge yourself to accept new ideas.  Last year, I met some women who truly challenged me to look at things differently. A diverse group of us sat over wine and discussed racial tensions and how we could make things better.  The conversation got feisty at times, but it's those times when we are out of our comfort zones where we grow the most. I left that conversation with a deeper understanding of how women of color feel about racism. It was powerful. 
• Have a plan for taking notes. My gal pal who's going with me this year asked if I had my laptop with me the whole time, and I think I carried it with me during the day sessions but probably didn't need it. I always keep a notebook with me for quotes, and tweeted in real time when it was doable. The most important thing is that you won't remember everything you saw and learned, so be sure you have a plan for keeping notes that you can read after the event is over. 
• Let yourself be a little sleep deprived. My 85 year-old stepfather used to tell us on vacation, "You can sleep when you're dead!" While I'm not an advocate of long-term sleep deprivation, I will admit that I didn't get much sleep during BlogHer15. I was too inspired and excited to sleep; you will be, too!  Soak up every moment of this fantastic opportunity to network and learn from the experts. You won't regret it. 

One last tip: Dance. Dance very chance you can. Nobody cares what you look like. I danced so much last year all by myself at times, and so far, there aren't any gifs of me dancing that are floating around for people to laugh at. 

Have a great time, ladies! I hope to meet you there.

Amy

How Does Life Change When You Have Kids?

I wrote this piece several months ago for a different project that I completely forgot about, so I revived it. Given that I just spent several truly quality days with my stepfather, it reminds me that if you are about to have kids, taking quality time to enjoy the small things is well worth it. The time zips by; embrace it.
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When people ask me what changes when they have kids, I laugh and tell them that everything changes, and there’s really nothing you can do to prepare for it. However, the miracle of parenting is that just when you think you can’t love any more, your ability to love expands again, day after day, year after year. 

To be a parent is to know a love deeper than any love imaginable.

I had a rough pregnancy with a lot of the complications you read about in the books and hope you don’t have. When the big day arrived, the thoughtful birthing plan I’d carefully written that requested candlelight and a string quartet playing by my side as I gently pushed out a child was abruptly tossed in the trash. Instead of going into natural labor while rocking casually on a yoga ball, I got Pitocin. Instead of my water breaking during a romantic Italian dinner while my husband and I giggled and calmly headed for the hospital, a nurse with a giant knitting hook did the deed. The finale was an emergency C-section that my husband nearly missed because he ran home to bake banana bread for the labor and delivery nurses (true fact). I was in such bad shape during the C-secton that I didn’t even see my daughter goopy and newly-born, as they whisked her away for blood work while they sewed me back together. 

How does life change when you have kids? You become thankful for the truly important things, like having a healthy baby girl. You reset your expectations.

After recovery, I remember being groggy and looking over into a glass incubator in the middle of the night, and a panic set in.

“Do I have to take that baby home with me?” I thought to myself, terrified.

We took her home. I did my best. Despite my ample breasts that I knew my entire life were surely meant for nourishing a baby, breastfeeding wasn’t in the cards for us. The glowing halo I expected to appear over my head as I breastfeed never came, and in its place, a dark cloud appeared. Postpartum depression wasn’t in my birthing plan, either. I began to consider that I might be a complete failure at the mommy job.

How does life change when you have kids? You learn to forgive yourself for not being perfect. 

Thanks to the unwavering support of family and friends and an excellent doctor, I received the treatment I so desperately needed to ward off the dark cloud. I began to embrace the little things. The love that is deeper than any love imaginable kept me going. I took the baby to a baby massage class, and soothed her crying by pulling gently on her little toes. She began to smile at me, and I began to smile back. 

How does life change when you have kids? You’ll never sleep the same way again, because a part of you is always alert in a desire to protect your young. You’ll develop weird obsessions in an effort to ensure your child’s safety. If you’re a mom, there’s a pretty good chance you’ll never sneeze again without peeing.

It’s all worth it.

My daughter is now 13. I still sneak into her room in the middle of the night to verify the rise and fall of her chest. When she’s not mad at me (she’s 13, after all), we curl up on the couch to watch a movie and I still pull on her toes. I take deep breaths and I hold her hand and cherish our time together, because it truly goes by in an instant.

(Also found on Huffington Post here)

Camp James Day 6, and the Morning of Day 7

Another guest blog by my lovely sister. 

I can't love this more.I love the topic of being neighborly, the phrase "food monogamist," and the perfect description of what it's like to be at Mom and James' home. I also had the pleasure of discussing James and squirrel-eating, but forgot to write about it so I'm glad Emily did the honors.

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On Day 6, I woke up at 6:45AM, only 45 minutes after James, who was clearly catching my “jetlag” feelings and sleeping in after our crazy late-night movie times! We began the day with a phone call from Mom, who was having lunch in York with her friends. As soon as I put her on speaker, James’ face lit up like the sun.  As a teenager, I used to roll my eyes about those two and their flirting, but nowadays, I feel like I never would have known true love myself if not for their example. They chatted for a bit, and Mom seems to be so excited and relaxed in her travels. Afterwards, we talked about all kinds of things happening in the world. I saw that he had read the paper, and as much as my sister and I would have liked to shield him from the story about Nice while Mom was travelling in Europe, he had read the headline, so we discussed how sad it was and our feelings about the state of things.  This conversation quickly led to him showing me a book, as James tends to refer often to printed-upon, drawn-upon, or written-upon paper, as opposed to shifting screens. 

The book was a gift from Camp James Phase 4 counselor, my absolutely stellar stepsister, Melissa, and it is comprised of 30 letters written to Pope Francis by children from around the world and his responses to these letters.  James encouraged me to read a few, as he noted how the questions the kids ask are difficult, and the Pope answered them in such simple terms, but with solid, reasonable, and wise answers.  I highly recommend picking this book up if you have the chance. It will make you hopeful and make you think. 

The previous day during “wine time” (a glass under the bower outside at 5pm), we had a great discussion about neighbors and what it means to be neighborly. The themes and conclusions were similar in this morning’s discussion about the state of our world and our politics. The ideas were as follows:

1.     We need more personal interaction for a more understanding world. Meaning, there is a benefit to getting to know our neighbors and forming communities, to travelling and familiarizing with other cultures, and also to hanging out with and having discussions with people who are not like us. 

2.     Interaction online and by phone is not the same as face-to-face. I know this is a common theme when discussing how volatile comment threads can become, but James wouldn’t know a comment thread from a stick, as he is strictly an ink and paper dude, so it was interesting to hear him bring this up. The idea being that it is much harder to be a bigot, or a bully, or even slightly condescending if the HUMAN is looking you in the eye.

3.     Neighborly and community interaction can be a risk, because it is “safer” to just surround ourselves with people who are like-minded. It’s the easy way out. But, as James said, “Life is hard from the moment we are born and realize there are other people on the planet.” But, as we concluded, life is also better from the moment we are born and realize there are other people on the planet. There will ALWAYS be differences of opinion based on everyone’s different life experiences, but what makes living and negotiating life so sweet and flavorful, is developing the skill of negotiating life together with all kinds of minds.

Amy and I grew up in the Bible belt, going to church and church activities as many as five times a week. We went to church with people who were on all sides and scales of the political spectrum, but when we were all gathered there, we came together under one roof and celebrated life and our common belief in something. In doing so, we fostered a mutual respect for and a community with people who had very different views, but if we had called these people at any time, night or day, (probably still to this day!), they would have been and would be there to help us, and vice-versa. James and I concluded that if more participate in things like church, or neighborhood associations, forming a cooking group, a scuba group, or an “I love Pokemon” group – whatever the case - and create TRUE relationships (*ones that take effort*) and support systems, that people can break down some of the hate and the ugly that is happening in our world and begin to understand each-other more.

Needless to say, this chat took a good several hours; the coffee was chilly and James, who keeps to a pretty tight schedule, was even further discombobulated. I had a small tinge of guilt that Camp James was becoming a rebellion, and then I warmed my coffee. After all, how often do these moments happen? 

By the way, it should also be noted, since Amy and I are so used to it by now, that coffee at Mom & James’ house is kind of a “thing”. Mom and James LOVE coffee, and the morning coffee ritual is probably the one thing that has never missed a day of their marriage. 

James makes the coffee the night before. In case you ever have the pleasure of staying the night in their home as a guest, bring earplugs, as the grinder goes off promptly at 4AM, and I swear they bought that thing in the early 1900s, because it sounds like a Zeppelin with a leak and lasts, in grumpy, sleepy time, FOREVER. When you do finally wake, this momentary disturbance is eclipsed by the amazing, way-better-than-Folgers aroma wafting through the house and the faint sound of the rustling of newspapers coming from the living room.  Since we are still on this imaginary journey, you will roll out of bed groggily, pitter-pat into the kitchen, and promptly “pick out your cup” (as James puts it).

This part of the ritual is very nostalgic when we come back for a visit, because the cups are a piece of history growing up with an artist and a musician. Mom and James have a lot of amazing friends, several of whom are potters, who live in various, breathtakingly Piney-woodsy, potter-appropriate homes/workspaces throughout East Texas. Throughout the years they have purchased their entire collection of dishware from their friends and other local potters, and grew a special addiction to coffee cups, each of which are unique.  

When you pick one out, if James approves of the way it feels in the hand, he will say nothing. If he LOVES the way it feels in the hand, he’ll likely point out that Dave Hendley made it special with a thumb rest and that it is one of his favorites. If you are really lucky, you can sit, sip coffee, and live vicariously through Mom and/or James telling you the story of the day they acquired said cup. 

Like I said, morning coffee ritual is kind of a thing, and one of my favorite things about coming home (insert cheesy Folgers music if you dare).

Around the noon hour, I took off for a bit to have lunch with my dad and stepmom at a deli. James fended for himself in the fridge. I stopped by the store on the way home to buy him bananas, as during one of our many talks, he said that if he had only one food to eat for the rest of his life he would eat bananas. I said burritos because it’s a complete protein (?), or if I had to choose only ONE like he did, bananas and not a combo food, it would be blueberries… Or maybe chocolate... Or steak…

Let’s just hope we never have to become food monogamists.

After the bananas arrived, James reached into his pocket and pulled out his notebook, and thumbing through it, said that he had more things he needed to buy. He seemed almost panicky about this, which I truly didn’t understand, until he read the first item on the list: sketch pads. Since I am not one to deny a Camp James care package item, we hopped back in the car and went straight the art supply store, where he found buy one, get one 50% off sketch pads, and all was right with the world. After finishing these errands, James sighed and said, “Emily, you have made all my dreams come true!” and started to laugh. NEVER deny an artist his canvas. 

I settled on making another one of James’ favorite things for dinner, a recipe for shrimp boil from the Trube family of Tyler, which I can’t share, because, shhh! It was delicious, and we continued our talks. Hours pass by when talking to James; such a mind on that one. 

Trube Shrimp Boil!

After dinner, we settled into Netflix early, since I wanted to get camp back on schedule before the next counselor came in. I rifled through titles, wondering what else would be quality enough to show James. When I told him “OH YES! We are totally watching this. It is sooo your music”, and began the documentary about the Carter Family entitled The Winding Stream, he grinned from ear to ear with the first bars of music, and told me he used to listen to the Carters on Border Radio growing up in Sabine. At one point he asked me if I had ever eaten squirrel. 

Hard to believe someone so worldly, open-minded, incredibly intelligent, patient, artistic, and intuitive, used to dig around the grey buckshot in his piece of cooked squirrel by the Sabine River. Live a full life, folks, and you might be lucky enough to end up even a little like James. 

The next day, we walked up the street to a garage sale where James made friends with even more neighbors, a couple of young Hispanic dudes who were just delighted to sell us a bright orange $3 hard hat and meet the man who lived in the house with a bridge around the corner.  I’m not sure why James was so dead set on buying a hard hat, except probably that it was the most colorful thing at the sale, and he is an artist, so… but, here he is donning it proudly:

Afterwards, I cleaned up and prepared to hit the road and pass the Camp James torch on to my stepbrother Chris. James was so excited for the new arrival, and we talked about how rare this time together had been, how much he loved his time with Amy and Rosie, and how great it was that he was getting even more with his amazing son and daughter in the upcoming days. 

All I know is that it had been a long time since I had uninterrupted, quality time like that with a family member, and I won’t take it for granted.  I am already thinking of how to go back to Camp James next year, and get to see more of the world through his eyes.   

Camp James, Day 5

This is the first time I've invited a guest blogger to contribute, and now I know I'll do this more often! Since Emily Rose and I left on Thursday to return to Austin, I figured the Camp James updates could continue in our absence. I love the new perspective and my sister's hilarious storytelling. 

Enjoy!

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In an attempt to get myself onto Camp James time, I set my alarm to 6:30am, finding immediately that I was experiencing some sort of jet lag.  

The night before, my sister, niece, James, and I watched Dr. Zhivago until the Entr’acte, at around 10pm (2 hours after James’ proclaimed “perfect bedtime”), when James and I wimped out and went to bed. As Amy mentioned in previous Camp James accounts, we discovered this week that Dr. Z is a long-ass film, and of course with settling in and checking the news of the world online, I didn’t really pass out until 11:30, a primary factor in my grogginess the next morning. 

Fully expecting that James would be sleeping in past his usual 4am waking hour, I was shocked to find that he had already read his paper, had his coffee, and was outside petting Callie, the wild Calico. My stepfather is and always will be a “morning person," and was delighted to see me peeping and not sleeping.  We chatted for a bit and he set out on his morning walk, returned, had his breakfast, and shortly after, Amy (sis) and Emily Rose (niece) joined us in the morning rituals. We finished watching Dr. Z, discussed what a beautiful piece of work James’ favorite film was, and I helped his Camp James (Phase 1) counselors pack up their car and head on down the road. 

At this point, admittedly, I found myself feeling a great pressure. I suddenly realized that I had not prepared myself to be a Camp James counselor, and that maybe I should have come prepared with projects or a schedule of events! After all, it seemed like following the delights and creative family time of the Arndt counselor team would be like following a cameo of Beyoncé at a Karaoke bar (and if you don’t think that’s a proper reference, I will now point out that my Word program just made me correct the Lady B’s name with the proper accent – Word even knows who she is, people).  

In all seriousness, I had a moment where I began frantically searching for cool things to do in Tyler. With little to no recent reference as to what is the haps in T-town, TX, aside from the sparse results of a Google search, I suggested a few events to James, and he settled on a visit to the Tyler Museum of Art.

I had not visited the museum since high school, and although I remember fondly the days when James was on the museum board and our cool family friend ran the museum and brought in musical acts like Joe Ely to give concerts in a room that sat maybe 40-50 people, I figured it was a whole new world by now. Naturally, I stepped up to the front desk, pulled out my wallet, and said to the curator-lady “Two, please," when suddenly I see James’ hand come around me flashing what I can only imagine is some sort of Lifetime VIP card of sorts.  

At the same time, the eyes of the man sitting beside her, who could not have given two hoots about my approach, start to get very wide and he stands up, practically bowing, saying “Well, I do believe it’s James Wilkins!!”, at which point I stepped aside like the carriage driver, and let the entire museum staff, which quickly included the director and a guy I went to high school with, revel at the presence of a man I already knew was the sh*t . 

At some point, we politely took leave to go view the collage art exhibit, and once more I remembered what it was like to be with James in his element. We created a pace, as people tend to do when examining art, and made little comments and critiques along the way. 

Now, I should disclaim that, as Amy and ER were getting ready to leave earlier that morning, James had come into the living room to give me a little instruction about his hearing, or, rather, my voice. “Now, just to let you know, I have had my hearing checked out and everything taken care of, but you have a very soft voice, so, please, when you speak to me, if you could do it face-to-face and speak up really loud, so I can hear you, especially if it is something important.” I, as I normally do when someone has this chat with me, explained that I knew I had a little voice, but that I sounded very loud inside my head, so I would do my best.  My friends are probably laughing by now as they no doubt only hear half of everything I say. In a museum setting, however, this became quite humorous as I was inclined to whisper and James never even turned his head. So, I was THAT museum cat lady.  Whispering to meself. Yep. 

It quickly become like old times hanging out; being impressed with the intricacies of some pieces, being blown away by one of the collage artists and sitting for a long time on the bench, staring at two giant collages in awe (at which point the museum sound track from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off gets stuck in my head – argh!), and, finally, that awkward moment when James turned to me in the quiet room that is right next to the front desk area and said, “This one looks like a toddler threw paint on the wall!”, after-which we both started church-giggling hysterically. 

Clearly the staff missed our rebellious remarks and giggles, as they continued to chat James up upon our leaving, until he grew slightly over it and shouted “Well, Goodbye!”, and turn-tailed it out of there. We left the museum discussing all of the changes it has gone through in the past years, but how it still retains its charms. 

After a lovely dinner at a Greek restaurant that he frequents with my mother, and where he is also a celebrity - or at least it would seem so by the fact that the owner did that whole come-out-of-the-kitchen-to-greet-only-James schtick (did I mention people love James?) - we settled back at the house. James announced at this point that his “perfect bedtime”, as aforementioned, was 8pm. 

It was 7, so we agreed that if I started a movie that was fine, but he would bow out early for bed. We began watching Philomena, and in no time James was, once again, hanging in with end credits rolling. He told me, with no grumpiness at all, that he couldn’t help it, he got “sucked in”, and that it was a wonderful movie, and we sat and discussed it for another 30 minutes.  With almost childlike excitement for learning a new piece of history and not a bit of weariness in his eyes (could he ALSO be a “night person”?), James finally turned in after another fun day of camp, and as I did the same, I began to think that maybe I was the camper, settling into a new schedule filled with thoughtful, mostly-TV free activities, lots of nature, life lessons, and the coolest counselor on the planet.