My Little Camper

We had an absolutely fabulous weekend, and Daddy was well-celebrated. But...we have some breaking news this morning that trumps that celebration post. We have a camper:

 Issa is having Fun in the Farmyard at our museum this week. And she gets to take a backpack:

 And she wanted to be sure everyone saw the day lilies, too:

 We arrived at the museum ridiculously early because Issa was ready to go to camp at 5:50 this morning. So...we took more pictures:

 Please notice she is still proud of the backpack:

 And she wanted you to see the rocket ship:

Every once in a while, I have one of those mom moments where I feel like I'm in a novel or film. You know the ones. In novels, characters close their eyes and see key scenes that brought them to this moment. In films, hazy visions of the past play against the action of the moment.

My moments always start with the moment in the hospital when I'm sitting in the wheelchair at the front door, waiting for Brad to pull the van around, and I have the realization that I am holding my baby and have no idea what I'm doing. There is this tiny little life in my arms and no instruction manual. I can still feel the lump in my throat, and I can still feel that weight in my arms. The moment hits when we are crossing milestones--especially milestones I am not properly braced for.

This morning, I walked a confident, bouncing little girl into camp. I was fine until I saw the sign on the door: "Fun in the Farmyard for Rising First and Second Graders." Gulp. It's not like I didn't know she was a first grader; I guess seeing it in such big, bold letters made it more real. Then my little angel looked at me with earnest eyes, "Mom, will they call me Issa or Clarissa?"

"They will call you whatever you want, baby."
"Then I'm Clarissa; it's a better big girl name."

Gulp. The montage begins. I bit my lip as I signed her in, and she gave me one very quick hug before she dashed off to meet new friends and do a puzzle. We named her Clarissa knowing it was a name that would grow with her; I just had no idea that she would want to shift at the ripe old age of five. Where did my baby go?

I made it to the car, and I melted. I want to say I shed a tear, but the reality is I slumped over the steering wheel and sobbed. My Issa...now my Clarissa...the happiest camper in the farmyard. I just hope she's not too big to appreciate this little note I tucked in her lunch box: