It seemed like a good idea at the time. Back when snow covered the trees and the school bus rolled up every morning at 7:30 a.m. to whisk my little ones away for the day, I decided I would spend the first week of summer vacation with 9-year-old Dillon and 7-year-old Harper. Sure, I had major deadlines, client meetings and doctors' appointments, but I'd sandwich them in somehow. I called it "Mommy Camp"— a week of summer fun. But as June 13 approached, "fun" was not the F-word at the tip of my tongue. Exhausted from end-of-school festivities, not to mention a wild wedding weekend in Delaware, I woke up that Monday morning feeling less like a camp counselor and more like Jason Voorhees from Friday the 13th about to stalk Camp Crystal Lake. I'd promised Dillon and Harper exciting adventures, backyard explorations, foreign-language lessons and sweet treats. Could I actually pull it off? No problem, I told myself. Adventure No. 1 would be calling up a 13-year-old neighbor to babysit while I escaped for a run. Big mistake. When I returned, my mind was clear but there was old granola on the breakfast table and toys everywhere. So off to Klinger's Bread Company we went, where I bought Dillon and Harper each a buttery croissant and told them they could take out their iPod Touches to look up French lessons while I met my friend Jackie to moan about the messy house and messy kids. (Interestingly, my kids looked up the French translation for "father" and "Father's Day." Already they were pining for Dad.) Procrastination measures met, I powered through a couple of articles in the early afternoon before finally telling kids that "quiet time" (when I worked in my office while they played Minecraft and looked up "Dance Mom" videos) was over. Feeling guilty, I invited Harper's friend, Alex, for a play date and took the trio to Spare Time, where I pecked away at emails on my iPhone while they battled each other in the laser tag arena. Day 2 began with an equally inauspicious start. Italian was the language of the day, so the kids remembered to bring their iPod Touches to my doctor's appointment at UVM Medical Center that morning. What Harper managed to forget, however, were his shoes. "Just pretend you have shoes on!" I whispered to him as we entered through…
It seemed like a good idea at the time. Back when snow covered the trees and the school bus rolled up every morning at 7:30 a.m. to whisk my little ones away for the day, I decided I would spend the first week of summer vacation with 9-year-old Dillon and 7-year-old Harper. Sure, I had major deadlines, client meetings and doctors' appointments, but I'd sandwich them in somehow. I called it "Mommy Camp"— a week of summer fun. But as June 13 approached, "fun" was not the F-word at the tip of my tongue. Exhausted from end-of-school festivities, not to mention a wild wedding weekend in Delaware, I woke up that Monday morning feeling less like a camp counselor and more like Jason Voorhees from Friday the 13th about to stalk Camp Crystal Lake. I'd promised Dillon and Harper exciting adventures, backyard explorations, foreign-language lessons and sweet treats. Could I actually pull it off? No problem, I told myself. Adventure No. 1 would be calling up a 13-year-old neighbor to babysit while I escaped for a run. Big mistake. When I returned, my mind was clear but there was old granola on the breakfast table and toys everywhere. So off to Klinger's Bread Company we went, where I bought Dillon and Harper each a buttery croissant and told them they could take out their iPod Touches to look up French lessons while I met my friend Jackie to moan about the messy house and messy kids. (Interestingly, my kids looked up the French translation for "father" and "Father's Day." Already they were pining for Dad.) Procrastination measures met, I powered through a couple of articles in the early afternoon before finally telling kids that "quiet time" (when I worked in my office while they played Minecraft and looked up "Dance Mom" videos) was over. Feeling guilty, I invited Harper's friend, Alex, for a play date and took the trio to Spare Time, where I pecked away at emails on my iPhone while they battled each other in the laser tag arena. Day 2 began with an equally inauspicious start. Italian was the language of the day, so the kids remembered to bring their iPod Touches to my doctor's appointment at UVM Medical Center that morning. What Harper managed to forget, however, were his shoes. "Just pretend you have shoes on!" I whispered to him as we entered through…