A mother of two, a wife of one and a woman in search of a strong cocktail
Summer is in full swing here in Gelato Land and as much as I’d like to lie in the grass and watch the clouds float by, we don’t have any grass and they only thing I can watch here at the beach is the fog rolling in. Again. So after a couple weeks of being blissfully bored and lazy, it was absolutely time to have someone else entertain Offspring. For at least a few hours.
Enter: Church Camp.
I’m not sure why some of my friends...laughed...when I said my kids were hitting up Church Camp. Granted, Son did one time ask if Jesus and Chuck E. Cheese’s were the same thing. And then, of course, there was the time I attempted to explain the meaning of Christmas to him and he walked away believing Jesus and Santa were brothers, but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in God or talk to my kids about Him. Daughter requests a prayer each night before dinner and while she usually thanks God first and foremost for tic-tacs, she is praying. I must have done something right. After all, I was raised Catholic. For years, my Wednesday nights were spent at CCD instead of watching 90210 like every other kid my age- but because of that TOTAL INJUSTICE...I don’t remember...everything...those lovely teachers talked about. But I do appreciate the fact that I had a foundation to build my beliefs on and while I swear, really, that one of these Sundays the Gelato Family will start going to church, I am more than happy in the meantime to scoot my kids over to a specially designed camp run by highly energetic, seemingly impossibly happy people who did backflips of joy at the opportunity to share their love of God with my children. I was also doing backflips of joy at the prospect of three solo hours.
But Church Camp had a little slick trick up their sleeve. Church Camp was on to me. Church Camp knew that there would be moms out there like me who were more than willing to sign up for Church Camp simply because it was cheap. Like super cheap. Like ‘a pair of shoes from Target’ cheap. So what Church Camp conveniently didn’t mention about the price of admission was that it included your very own copy of Church Camp’s Greatest Hits. And that each song is played at Church Camp with it’s very own dance moves. Isn’t that just fantastic? Church Camp knew that no child can resist an infectious beat paired with sign-language inspired dance moves. Church Camp knew that as soon as my kids saw that shiny little compact disc, they would relentlessly ask to play play play it louder louder louder until the only thing I’m praying to God about is to Make.It.Stop.Please. Church Camp knew that if I were to reject an invitation to have an impromptu dance party to their Greatest Hits, I would be Judged and deemed a Mean Mommy. So I listen. And I dance. And I think...
Well played, Church Camp. Well played.
All joking aside, The Offspring totally loved Church Camp. And I was grateful to be sending them to a place where everyone was so...nice. Really, really...almost like really? nice. And turns out, I do need to brush up on my Bible stories as I still can’t figure out why Son came home with a box of Irish Spring soap one day. And PS-what is IN Irish Spring soap as my entire home, while not being very big, smelled like a leprechaun for 3 days.
So...maybe it wouldn’t kill me to buy a Children’s Bible and talk about Jesus in a way that doesn’t involve me cursing. The Lord...he really does work in mysterious ways.