Home sweet home

So I survived my first week out at camp- Camp Braveheart to be specific. Here is my week in numbers:

7: this is the number spiders I killed in my room upon arriving the first day.

3: the number of fierce thunderstorms with high winds and torrential downpours we had during the week.

5: the number of pounds I fear I've gained from eating camp food all week.

1: the number of excruciatingly painful blisters I got between my toes from wearing my Chaco's all week. PS. I got a number of compliments on them by people asking "I love that pattern- is it new?!" My response: "No they're actually 6 years old. They just look new, because I haven't worn them since the last time I was at camp... 5 years ago."

250: the number of congenital heart disease and heart transplant kiddos that enjoyed the best week of their lives.

2: the number of weeks I have before my next camp begins on July 28.

I got home on Friday, but husband didn't get home from his week in Christian Vegas Branson until Sunday. Why is it that when I'm home alone, my first thought when I wake up in the morning is "I made it through the night"? We have an alarm system and live in suburban-ish Atlanta... why do I still feel the need to lock my bedroom door and sleep with my keys next to my bed? I shared this with husband and he asked "why do you need your keys?" My answer: "In case I need to make a quick get away in the middle of the night of course". Needless to say, I am glad to have him home. Happy Monday, friends.