The last day of book camp has brought a bag full of emotion and poured it over our heads. Or something.
All it really takes are a few questions whose response go wonky and a bit angsty disobedience and BOOM we have the awkward elbows of feelings on all sides.
Such is the risk one takes when peopling, whether in the world at large or in a fort housed in your living room.
At any rate, the house is too quiet, I feel rather deflated, and book camp seems to be winding down to a low spot. Maybe the otherwise placid, floaty feel this book camp lulled us into a false sense of security against teen angst. Which clearer heads might have warned. Had we listened.
I hadn’t realized that this book camp was depleting everyone’s rest and creativity even as new stores of each were being quietly cultivated.
And then a previously surly kid enters the fort with a funny story and a suggestion that we get him whiskers and a bell. And the volume of the house picks up. And all is well again.