So, like a forgotten fire, a childhood can always flare up again within us. ~Gaston Bachelard

As summer winds down, both my younger son and I are benefiting from “Camp Mom” – two weeks of activities for just the two of us.

For many years, January and February meant carefully scheduling summer camp for the kids, mapping out the weeks I needed coverage, working around family vacation weeks while making sure the camps would appease them.

Now that my boys older, it’s a different story: my 16-year-old has a full schedule of volunteering, lifeguarding and working as a swim instructor. My 12-1/2-year-old has outgrown most of the day camps and is too young to volunteer or work. He attends a few sleepaway camps and hangs out with his friends except for the last two weeks of summer: Camp Mom

Camp Mom consists of two weeks of day trips and activities with me: movies, museums, the beach, lunch, bike riding, or play tourist – it’s a chance for one-on-one time with them.

As my boys get older, they want to spend more time hanging out with friends; in just a few short years they will be out of the house and on their own, which makes Camp Mom more important to me.

Camp Mom is often met with resistance in the form of grumbling and eye-rolling. This year was no different.

On the first day of the first week, my younger son and I set out for my secret beach. Getting to the beach is a good mile or so walk from the car to the coast; this walk provides us with an opportunity to talk and connect. My son is reluctant. I can imagine what is going on in his head and assume it is likely “I’d rather be at home playing FortNite.”

As we walk, I tell him stories about when he was little, how much he loved adventures out to the zoo, the park and to the museum – it was fun and exciting for him. I mimic some of the words he used to use to share his wonder and delight.

I see the change in his body language. A small half smile creeps on his face. I know he misses those days too, but he won’t admit it.

We head down the steep path to the beach where I spread out the blanket; we get to work assembling our kites, his, a shark, mine a dragon.

Our kites sail high above our heads, bobbing up and down, long tails billowing gracefully in the wind. The day is clear and sunny. I breathe in the ocean air and look over to him and smile.

“Well?” I ask.

“Flying a kite on the beach is better than sitting at home playing video games” he shouts back. He has a big grin from ear to ear.

My heart overflows with joy: my son may be growing up but there’s still room in his life for me.