My stomach is doing somersaults inside me, telling me that I just climbed off a loop-the-loop that ended in a 100-foot drop to boot. Am I facing a drastic life-change, a watershed, something that will alter me for the rest of time?

No. I dropped my daughters off at day camp.

I'm sure they'll have way more fun at camp than they would at home, and yet something in me is clenching up, having trouble letting go. I have a flashback to when my mother cried when she left me at the University of Oklahoma ten years ago. Suddenly, I begin to understand.

Letting kids go out into the world is similar to being a writer, and putting your work out there for other people to see. You labor unseen for awhile, creating, editing, making a piece of art, and then, when you can do no better than you've already done, you publish your baby. People are free to disagree with what you've done - to criticize, even to despise. And yet, you love your baby, and always will, even when you see its faults.

In that vein, let's write a poem describing how I feel. (Chris says I should add, for the sake of certain people, that this poem is a little bit of #snark. In other words, don't take it as a serious piece of art. Please. And thank you.)

I drop you off at camp
And feel like a tramp
As I go to Jubala
And you stay like a balla.

Sipping a latte
I think of you on this hot day
Learning sports
With your cohorts.

My gut says "Go get them!
They need their mum!"
But heck, they don't miss me -
They didn't even kiss me!

Not much can phase
A kid at this age
But as for their mom,
Camp's just the first bomb.

* mic drop *