I don't know why I bother to worry about things so much. Most things seem to work out and if they don't, I usually do what I can to "fix" it and move on. I worried hours and hours about my son and his first camp experience. Going to camp was a huge step for him, who has rarely even wanted to spend one night away from home. I wanted him to have a good time so he would want to go more, so I worried - for no good reason.
My husband had been "on call" as a substitute leader (he is a cub master, but helps with the Boy Scouts) for the camp and he got called up Sunday Night, so my son had his daddy after only a few hours of being on his own. My husband doesn't share a tent, or even go around with my son's group, but he is able to check in, periodically. According to my husband, my son is taking advantage of all camp has to offer, though gets sad at night when things start winding down. He closed the rifle range last night (as he probably will every night) and he swam, worked toward his first aid badge, did leather crafting, and has already visited the infirmary because he has blisters that have popped on the palms of his hands.
On the busy home front, I had to take the Princess to the doctor yesterday because she woke up in the middle of the night saying her throat was closing and making these awful noises though she was perfectly healthy before she went to bed. The doctor said she looked healthy and that he could find nothing wrong with her, that possibly she had had some sort of viral croup. Scary, but obviously not serious. Our doctor is an hour and fifteen minutes away so that melted away a big part of the day. When we got back, I worked a little, then went home to find the cow and calf pair that we had in the holding pen had escaped. The Princess and I ate dinner with my mom and dad and then we went to the next town to the funeral home.
The lady who died was the nurse in the doctor's office of my childhood. Nurses and doctors were different then. The nurses didn't bounce around from one practice to the next, they were closely associated with one doctor. Dr. Bill's office would not have been the same if Ms Virginia hadn't been there. Dr. Bill and Ms Virginia stitched my wounds, healed me when I was sick, and even pierced my ears.
This morning, I woke to find the charolais bull in the pen with our replacement heifers. This is not good. They are still too young and that bull produces calves that are huge - not a good thing for the first time. Work. Work. Work.