Magic Camp

Summer is just around the corner.  It must be a very large corner because I have been ready for about 3 months now.  Don and I are fortunate enough to be home in the summer. I often day dream about our summer days, especially on a day like today. The very first thing that my boss said to me as I walked in the door was " I have melanoma, come look at this mole!"  I prayed that it is in a place that is typically not covered by clothes and I thought of about 400,000 other things I would have preferred to look at.  Begrudgingly I abbliged and if that wasn't enough, he google imaged cancerous mole and showed me.  I guess I can add that to my list of things you should never google image, right under "rash".
As I try un-see what I have just seen, I make my way into my office.  My blackberry chimed a reminder entitled "Magic Camp".  I knew my mind would subconsciously suppress the reminder and that why I added it to my calendar.  As much as we love summer, experience has taught us that after about 5 days of family bliss we will be wanting the boys to get out of the house.  That is why some genius invented summer camps.  There are several local camps. science camp, wilderness camp, soccer camp, golf camp, baseball camp. But my son doesn't want any of those. He wants Magic Camp. * note I am
jazz-hands-ing in sarcasm whenever I say it.  If he didn't look exactly like my husband I would think he was switched at birth.  I don't have anything against magicians really, but when I think of one, I recall waiting for a table at the Outback Steakhouse and one coming over to pull a hanky from his wand..or maybe that was a clown? I digress.
So I go to the website for the local Magic camp. It is 5 days a week for one week from 8- 1.  That is an awful lot of card tricks. And if that info wasn't enough, it shows a picture of previous magic camp attendees. Magic Alumnus if you will.  I know all kids are unique and special and all that, but these two boys are about 57 pounds and 5 feet tall. As pale as a white rabbits and wearing tiedye.  I have a hard enough time getting Fin out of the basement as it is. This may be the slippery slope deep into never-get -a-date-ville, and if that is the case, he WILL live in my basement forever.   As I perused the website I discovered that the minimum age is 8, Finegan is 7. Eureka!  I decide to email the guy just to be sure.  I don't know if its a magic trick, but I got the email returned instantly. Undeliverable.  That means I have to call him. Ugh. Thankfully I got an answering machine.
Hello you have reached the bla bla residence and also STEEEVVEEE the MAAGGICIAN! Please leave a message.  Of course his name is Steve.  Other than David Copperfield and Criss Angel I think all magicians are named Steve.  And come to think of it, David and Criss don't even call themselves magicians anymore, they are "mind freaks". I leave a message and hope I said my number too fast.  I didn't. He calls back while I'm in the shower and Don answers.
Don seems to miss "major issues" that are going on in our family.  I know I have told him the age dilemma crisis regarding magic camp, but its seems that he put on his autopilot face and stored way way back somewhere in his brain. Right next to a few other key things that make our family function.  I actually said this very sentence to him this morning,
" If I just decided to take a break from my daily house hold duties we would have starving, dirty, rabidness naked kids running through the house" I was referring to the fact that for the past few days I have been the only person who has grocery shopped, planned meals,  cooked, cleaned, did laundry and got our dog immunized.  But who is keeping track right?
So when the person on the other end of the phone line said, hello this is Steve the magician returning your call, Don was dumfounded and was waiting for the punchline.
Cue Don entering the bathroom to interrupt my glorious shower with "Did you call a magician?"  I wanted to say yes, so I could magically turn you into a husband who cares!  But I didn't. I knew he was holding the phone and that our conversation could be heard so I gave him the look. The look that says
 HELLO?  Have you not overheard our son's monologue that has been on a loop that goes a little like this, (Have you called the magician? Have you called the magician? Have you called the magician?")
Women underestimate how well we communicate with our eyes.  It was then that Don awakened from his coma and started talking to the magician and thankfully left the bathroom so I could finish my shower.
 Two minutes later , cue Don entering the bathroom AGAIN. He said that the magician had agreed to let him attend the camp even though he is 7 only if Don could vouch that he is serious about magic.  Don confidently did and now our son is on the list, and a very short list I'm sure.