De-camped and de-flea'd

So it's been an interesting week. I sent my oldest daughter off to our church's annual "girls camp." It's for young women ages 12 to 18. I went three years in a row when I was that age. I remember it was hot and muggy and miserable, since I was in Mississippi and Alabama at that time. I was SO grateful when it rained two of those years! I was singing hallelujahs.
Needless to say, I had the obvious feelings of "gee, I can't believe my baby is this old..." yada, yada. I took her and a few other girls up to the camp on Tuesday and watched them get settled in and start getting to know each other. I could tell that she didn't need a big kiss and hug from the ol' mom once she was dressed in her cute new camp T-shirt and sitting at a a table eating lunch with all the other girls. So I just let Cami kiss her and I stood at a very short distance waving. But I'd already given her the hug and kiss when it was just the two of us, no other girls around. So yes, she IS that old, and yes, she is old enough to want a little distance from me among a bunch of other teens. Whoa.
Before I went through all those hackneyed feelings, I was laughing a bit inwardly at the picture of her being at camp. I myself was never much of a camper. I was glad when it rained and we didn't have to go outside a pavilion and do stuff. We could just sing silly songs. I hate the hot weather and all the grunginess. And I am quite sure Brianna's not much of the camper either. She hated the YMCA kids day camp a few years ago that she tried a couple of times because it was hot and there were "lots of ants." Not the outdoorsgirl. So I'm smirking a bit picturing her there. Well, I WAS. Now I just picture her having fun and enjoying herself and then coming home to tell me all about it. That'll be tomorrow.
So on to the second topic. Brianna has been gone for two and a half days, and I haven't had her help with the younger girls. I've kind of missed that. Marce has had other things going on, including going up to the camp this evening in his church duties to participate as a leader. So I've handled things all on my own without any backup/support from older people like my husband or my competent 12-year-old. But during one evening we had "open" without anything going on, duties, etc., Marce and I chose to use our glorious time bathing the cats.
Yeah. I thought it would only take 15 minutes or so. No biggie. They've both been flea-infested so it was time for a good soaking and scrubbing with flea shampoo. Mac, the strong manly-man who's only 2, put up a big fight and left Marce looking like a druggie who shoots up both arms. We scrubbed him, pulled off a few fleas, and let him go. We grabbed Cocoa Puff, my sweet little stray I had to rescue a few months ago (she was obviously a good house cat before because she's spayed and de-clawed in the front and was obviously spoiled on soft food, which she ain't gettin' here on a regular basis, I can tell ya that) and put her in the clawfoot. (Hmm. Appropriate we're bathing the cats in the CLAW-foot tub....) She is much smaller and a whole lot furrier, and as I mentioned, claw-less in the front. We discovered that was REALLY nice. She made a few attempts to bite a few times, but she didn't put up a big fight. Which was a good thing. Because once we got that long fur all wet, and we could actually see under to her skin, we found a whole circus of fleas. We spent a solid half-hour or more crouched over the bathtub, picking at least a hundred fleas off her. We'd find them clustered three and four at a time in different spots and then grab them and try to pull them out. It was hard work, I tell ya. And we'd rinse, keep searching, and find three or four more. And on and on it went. She let out a few plaintive "me-rows" and sat there putting up a fruitless struggle on occasion. I felt so bad for her. I mean, I have no idea how many fleas we got off of her.
So there my dear husband and I were: huddled over a tub, holding down a scrawny-looking cat with fur plastered to her skin, meowing on occasion, picking off a ridiculous infestation. We're sopping wet from splashing and from sweat. I looked at him and had to laugh on numerous occasions: nice way to spend an evening with my beloved.
Life sure is good.