Our boy has never been particularly good at change.
When he was a toddler, it posed some inconvenient and embarrassing challenges for me. He would cry and tantrum for hours if his furniture got moved, his socks felt wrong, or a person looked at him. I was truly worried about the child.
But magically, at the age of five, things began to change for the better. He went to kindergarten without being expelled or placed into many special programs. He looked at his teacher. He managed to get dressed in the morning, complete with socks and undies, plus winter outerwear without me ever calling Child and Family Services.
He began to progress through grade school with minimal incidents. True, I could always see the toddler beneath, and noticed his sensitivity, his resistence to the change in seasons, his preferences for the familiar and predictable. But he did and does regular kid stuff. (just not soccer. Or sport of any kind. Or sandals in summer. Or pants with stripes...)
He even goes to summer camp. This year was a little touch and go, since I decided this summer not to use my holiday time to volunteer for camp kitchen; flipping french toast and stirring vat-o-porriage. The child would have to go it alone. He decided two weeks before camp that it was something he would like to do, so pack the bags we did.
On the way to camp, we camped out at Boler Babe's estate for a few days- splashing in her pool, listening to owls in the treetops, and roasting marshmallows. Micah spent these few days in his favourite pants- black with a bit of camoflauge down the side. Before we left, I'd made sure to mention that he ought to pack some of his other, less favourite pants in with the socks, undies, t-shirts, swim gear, towels, Bible, and notebook; since he would be away for a total of eleven days and nights.
We dropped Micah off at camp on Sunday afternoon and picked him up the following Friday.
His teeth looked pretty clean. His hair smelled like he'd been bunking with a band of damp chipmunks. He was wearing exactly the same outfit as we'd dropped him off in five days prior. His towels were completely dry and clean. His crusty socks stood around in straight lines alongside the Holy Bible. Close inspection of the duffel bag revealed zero undies.
I'm going to say that all his underwear landed up packed up with some other lucky little boy. Along with his brand new zipper hoodie. I'm going to say that he spent the week frollicking in the lake with all his buddies, not thinking for a moment about what might lie beneath those swimming minnows and stray floating bits of slimey seaweed. I'm going to say that he wore his other pairs of pants on the days between Tuesday and Thursday and saved his favourites for pick up day. I'm going to say he went to the showers but forgot his towel and chose to drip dry.
But like I said, change has never really been his thing.