Someone grew bolder.
Someone swang on The Big Swing.
And slid down the fire pole on the playground and got a blister.
And went whizzing through camp at night in the trailer behind Daddy's bike in the pitch dark with flashlights.
Someone went swimming with the big kids.
And ate ice cream and had her first ring pop and chewed gum for the first time.
And rode her bike in the mountains. And went up and down the stairs in the cabin a million times. Without falling down. (Which is more than I can say for some people.)
Someone went hiking. And collected walking sticks. And stuck her feet in a creek. And almost had to go potty behind a tree. (Me: If you can hold it back to the house, I'll let you have a cookie. Evie: Alright! I can hold it!)
Someone discovered "gold" and carried a handful of gold-speckled mud all the way up the banks of the creek behind the ballfield, down the road through camp, past the woodpile, over the bridge, up the hill, past the fire truck, and all the way home. "Treasure!" someone said. "Eureka!" someone said. (That handful of muddy gold now sits in a plastic baggie on my kitchen counter at home.)
Someone rode the merry-go-round on her belly and flew off face first into the wood chips and scraped up her face. Someone cried. And then eventually got over it.
Someone went on The Zip Line with Mommy.
And showed not one single sign of fear, nor one moment of hesitation.
While we were waiting in line next to the big girls, she wanted to show them how high she could jump. So she did. And when it was our turn, she let the camp counselor strap her into a harness and then marched right up the ladder onto the platform. And not for one second showed any thought of turning back, as we stood at the edge of the platform, with that thin wire above and the dark green creek below.
I can DO it. I can Do it. I CAN...
And then she did.
And as we landed, someone was holding on to me for dear life.
More specifically, holding on to the front of my tank top, and not letting go, even as gravity and the release of the carabiner, brought her back down to earth. Someone brought the front of my tank top down with her. A certain amount of R-rated flesh may have been exposed. (Of course, standing right over us is The Teenage Guy whose job it is to remove the harnesses from the Zip Line. The one, of course, who did an admirable job of turning away in order to NOT see my boob. The one, whom BKG would, for the rest of the trip, snickeringly refer to as my "boyfriend".)
Meanwhile, someone has become downright cocky.
Someone has this new "dance" that she does, which is more of a swagger with added air guitar, accompanied by this new "song" that she sings, which is more like a personal Declaration of Awesomeness. It goes like this:
Oh yeah! Oh yeah!
Do the funky chicken. Do the funky chicken.
Oh yeah! Oh yeah!
It's par-tay time. ROCK and ROLL.
That about sums it up, don't you think?