It is a 6th grade right of passage to attend 6th grade camp before the end of the school year. It’s a way to celebrate the end of elementary school, and a way to make new friends from other schools before being bunched together in the big, scary halls of Jr. High.
At 12 years old, I went with my class to our own 6th grade camp. I was excited to leave my parents and sisters behind and have the opportunity to hang out with all my friends for a whole week. And the best part? No school work! We spent the days playing games out in the field, going through “ice breaker” games that helped us to get to know our future classmates from other schools. We ate in the cafeteria, food that was just as good as cafeteria food can get, but decent enough to eat. And we’d stay up way later than the obligatory “lights out” call mandated. About 6 of us were crammed into a cabin with bunk beds. I got the top bunk, and shared the room with some of my closer friends from school. Our parent chaperone was very lenient, allowing us to hang out on each other’s bunks after the last call was given as long as we kept it down to a low roar. I think this was also to encourage us to stay in the cabin and not sneak out. And for the most part, it worked. (more...)
6th grade right of passage
When I was a kid, I was so embarrassed about my hairy legs. It wasn’t like the blonde, almost invisible body hair of my friends. I had thick, dark, Italian hair. And it was very noticeable. As a young tween, I was at an age when every single blemish on anyone’s body was noticed and made fun of, and my hairy legs had already been pointed out to me. There really was no question about it. I couldn’t wear pants in the heat of summer for the rest of my life.
Over the weekend, while my 
A mom I know recently told me the story of her daughter and herself. As a single mom of just one girl, the two were incredibly close. My friend relied on her daughter to help out around the house and take care of her own responsibilities. And she was never disappointed. The two worked as a team to get dinner on the table, keep the house straight, and that all homework was done promptly and turned in on time. The two spent a lot of time together outside of school and work. The daughter talked often with her mom about problems she was having at school or with friends, when she thought a particular boy was cute – pretty much anything that crossed her mind. Jr. High came, which meant a new schedule at a new school, and new friends to meet. It’s interesting, things didn’t change overnight, as my friend remembers. But they did change rapidly. Her once sweet and kind daughter suddenly became sullen and angry. She stopped helping so much around the house. And the biggest change?
As parents, it is our job to guide our children and teach them important lessons in life. But sometimes it is our kids who are teaching us. Here are some very important lessons I have learned from my children.
12 years ago today, I was looking my newborn daughter in the eyes for the first time. I held her tiny body (all 9 lbs, 12 oz of her) and couldn’t believe that they were going to let me take her home. Didn’t they know I had never done this before? I wasn’t sure I could be trusted to know when to feed her or how often to change her diaper. I was unsure what would happen if I ever stopped counting how many times she breathed. I was sure, with as fragile as her body was, that I was going to be the one to break her. I mean, I couldn’t be trusted to carry more than a couple dishes at a time. I had broken my mother’s favorite coffee cup that way. I wasn’t very careful with my books, still guilty of dog-earing the pages and returning borrowed paperbacks with the hints of everything I had eaten that week between the pages. And some of them were just never returned at all. I couldn’t for the life of me put things away in their proper place. Hair supplies sometimes were in the art cabinet. Food storage containers were under my bed. Our only flashlight was somewhere in a pile of stuff. And I couldn’t even remember where I had placed my nail clippers. I lost stuff all the time.
To celebrate, I told him we’d pick out something for dessert that night, and that I would let him pick out dinner. I was trying to think of ways to make this an even bigger deal. I even mulled over singing him “Congratulations to you” to the tune of Happy Birthday. Don’t worry, that idea never manifested. But I was just beaming with pride. I immediately let Mr. Wonderful know, and then let the rest of the world know by posting the news as my Facebook status.
Wine Country Mom 