TheDad and Big Brother are off to Summer Camp for the week with the Boy Scout troop. They'll be living in tents, battling mosquitos and looking to beat last year's second-place finish in the Iron Camp Chef competition.
Usually, we just say goodbye to them at home, but this year the rest of us went over to the church where the Scouts were packing up the vans and trailer. I'm sorry we didn't do this other years. It was nice to hang out with the other moms and leaders' wives, to wish all the campers well (not just the ones in my own family) and to trade cell-phone numbers with moms who worry that their child's phone won't pick up a signal in camp (it probably won't. But someone will manage to call, and then we'll all let each other know that everyone's OK.)
And then I came home, put down my coffee cup, and headed directly to Big Brother's closet (do not pass GO, do not collect $200) where I took all his t-shirts out of the closet organizer where they'd been stuffed, folded them neatly, and replaced them. That thing has been driving me crazy for months, but I've managed to resist until now.
(I'm now wondering if he has any shirts at camp with him. He has an awful lot of t-shirts.)
Middle Sister is off to a sleepover with the cousins on Wednesday. Her dresser is next.
I expect that before the week is out, I'll rearrange some furniture. Because doing that, and cleaning closets and dresser-drawers, is how I say "welcome home" to someone who's been away.