My (almost) 15-year-old sister will be venturing to art camp for the month of July where I'm sure she'll impress everyone with her skills and enjoy being away from home for weeks on end, without any parents to bicker or complain.
But man - I'm worried.
Not because I don't trust her judgment or her abilities, but because I don't trust anyone else.
She's the cutest, smartest, cutest, smartest 15-year-old ever.
You know that awkward phase we all go through? Where our bras are like cotton hangers and our complexion is pimpled while greasy bangs fall in our faces?
Yeah. She skipped that phase.
She's tall and lean, smart and witty.
Wishing her well in the coming adventure is a given, but I certainly hope all the stories I've heard about adolescents and summer camp aren't necessarily true.
I cried during her high school play like a 9o-year-old grandma who would never step foot in an auditorium again. I celebrate her birthday with tears while whimpering "when you were little..." far too many times.
So we're just going to file this one under... "Reasons I'm not a mom yet."
Because loving little people hurts.