I just left my 5 1/2 year old daughter at her first day of fine arts camp. Crying. Her. Head. Off. I feel like the world's poorest excuse for a mother at this particular moment. How dare I leave her at that evil place where she will be subjected to swimming! and pottery! and painting! and dancing! Or at least I'm sure that's what her sweet little brain was thinking. And a little part of me is thinking the very same thing. Maybe a big part. The part that's nagging at me to run back and pick her up and crawl into bed with her for a day of marathon Treehouse television.
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