I have a history of racing the camp bus. No, really. Of just not being home before it arrives.

I spent Kenny's very first day of camp at a neighbor's pool side and lost track of time. I arose from my deck chair as the bus rounded the bend. I sprinted (or tried to) across her huge side yard, crossed the street and ran up to the open bus door, announcing my presence.

Last summer was worse. On one occasion, I followed the camp bus through town to our house. The streets are narrow and curvy and there was no way to pass. How would that look anyway, deperately outrunning the camp bus home?!

And once Kenny had to stay with a neighbor because I was down the shore picking up my car from the shop. What a frantic exchange that was with the camp's transportation department: "Can you hold him at camp so that I can pick him up?"

"But he's scheduled to board the bus."

"Then, if nobody is home, does he remain on the bus and return to camp? And I can pick him up from there?"

"It doesn't work that way."

"Look, can he go home with a neighbor?"

"OK, but next time we need it in writing."

There isn't going to be a "next time".

But, there almost was. On Monday I was invited to Ocean Grove ... which is a post all its own! ... and decided to pack it in around 2:50. I got into the car by 3, powered on the GPS, pressed "Navigate to HOME" and my jaw dropped at the estimated arrival time! Oh, good heavens, I've done it again, I thought to myself. And on the first day of camp, too!

The estimated time is usually somewhat generous and I watched the minutes drop back the farther I drove. Besides, the day of camp? ... the bus was 20 minutes late!