I hadn’t planned on being part of day camp this year. Sure, they asked me to be a part of it (in fact I’ve been asked to be part of the planning team that works on this for months) but I told them I couldn’t commit. I had too many other things to worry about like
washing my hair hauling my other kid all over the place.
Yet somehow, I seem to be a part of day camp staff once again. (And you always thought the word “staff” implied getting paid!) One of the camp traditions is for all staff to have a camp name. This is the name that you wear around your neck and everyone calls you. It solves that sticky problem of what kids should be calling the adults. Each staff member is supposed to chose a name that has some sort of special meaning to them.
I’m very good at naming things and then twisting them around into strange nicknames. I named our kids, our pets, KT’s pillow, the rug in our front room…anything that needs naming gets one from me. You would think that coming up with a camp name for myself would be a piece of cake. Sadly, I just can’t seem to come up with a name for myself .
My very first year at camp, my name was Cricket because I like to sing. Then I missed a year of camp and my name was taken by someone else. I hemmed and I hawwed and finally settled on the new name of Mitzi and illustrated it with a goofy looking frog. When Mimi was old enough for a camp name, she wanted mine. Being the
pushover sweet,caring mother that I am, I passed my nametag on to her.
So, once again, I found myself searching for a new name. It seemed that everything I came up with was laughed at or met with an eye roll from my family. (Aren’t they sweet?) On the first day of camp, annoyed that I still didn’t have a name, Mimi finally told me to be Princess and quickly scribbled it on a round of wood for me to wear around my neck.
I had a name, but I wasn’t really comfortable with it. This name seemed so…pink…and…fluffy…an…pampered. Things that I really didn’t associate with myself. The kids readily accepted the name, but my peers all scoffed at it. (Not that I could really blame them!) I had to think of something else. Something that was more… me. (And that nobody could scoff at.)
When I woke up the next morning I had the perfect name. It was simple, yet regal. Telling, yet pretentious. But most important, it was a name that made me smile. The name that everyone at camp now calls me, is something that Shaun had called me by for a while now.
You may now call me the Queen Bee.
Bit O Life
I thought I would share my MacGyver-like talent at creating royal bees from mere pipe cleaners!