Milo, Camp and Believing

After I pulled myself away from Milo's smiling dimpled face on my daughter's blog this morning, I set about writing myself.

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I am on my way to camp, it would be my last summer there.  My mother had stayed up late into the night, sewing name tags on our clothes; a tedious job that would now be handled with permanent marker.  The fact that my parents were savers helped somewhat in this situation, since many of our clothes from previous summers still had our names conspicuously attached.  (And during my freshman year of college my name still clung stubbornly to some old t-shirts and socks.)

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This made me remember how homesick I would get.  Which made me think about how much I miss my children and baby grandson and wondered if my parents felt the same way, the missing part.  In spite of thinking otherwise for years, I am slowly beginning to believe they really did.