It's been an emotional morning. Firstborn has gone off on her first ever overnight camp. As we gathered in the school hall for the pre-departure pep talk, I looked over at my daughter as she huddled with her friends, drinking in everything the teacher was saying and occasionally glancing over in my direction. I kept a brave face on it, grinning manically at her in an attempt to communicate "Fun! Yeah! This is great! Yay!", but I felt a little more flat inside as each minute passed. Firstborn is a mere eight years young and today she looked tiny. Outside she was full of bravado but her big owl eyes and slightly pinched mouth indicated otherwise. I probably looked exactly the same. Last night we picked out Firstborn's clothes (many were dismissed as being way too naff - how did she get fashion sense this young?), raided the store room for torches and a sleeping bag, then I gave myself repetitive strain injury by sewing on name tags while she chatted away about the...
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