Camping With Mama

Sitting on the counter; looking at how empty the cabin looked with all the campers gone home I waited. It had been a relatively good week; campers that is. However, the weather and the power struggle between staff was something else altogether. Let’s start with the fact that I spent Thursday to a week Friday wet; I swear it rained every day. And every time something needed doing it was me and these other two staff that were always out in the rain helping. On top of all the rain and the stress with that, there was a major power struggle between the Kitchen Manager and Camp Director; which pretty much meant that there was constant stress among the campsite staff for no apparent reason. It felt like we were being pulled in two different directions.

So after nearly a week of this constant pulling, I had a complete freak-out. My morning started with not having the correct food for breakfast, so here I am in the rain hiking up to the Main House to get pancake mix and syrup. I ended up having to get it from yet another site. The campsite where my Mama was. It was eight in the morning and she already could see the temper flaring behind my eyes. I couldn’t hide it no matter how hard I tried to calm down on the way over. I was stressed.


“Come here, Sunny,” she said as she held open the side door to the building.


Of course, I obeyed. I know better not to.


“You need to take a step back, take a breath, and calm yourself down before you do something you are going to regret.”


“I’m fine.”


“Don’t give me that,” pulling me into a hug.


“I’m sorry.”


“Then do as you’re told and calm yourself down.”


“I will.”


“Before you get back to your site.”


“Yes, Ma’am.”


“I’m not going to warn you again, you understand.”


“Yes, Ma’am.”


With that last snuggle, I headed back down to my site trying desperately to calm myself for the sake of the girls and for the sake of a good weekend in between camps. But it seemed that the day was going to end up going from bad to worse. It started raining again flooding my site, forcing me to move my girls to the Main House, the House of constant tension. Well, you can imagine my reaction to this. Can you say annoyed; one hundred percent annoyed. (Like I wasn’t angry enough, to begin with) This annoyed state was followed by the maintenance guy telling me that I wasn’t standing in ankle-deep water outside; the reason my site was flooding was due to the windows being open. I was ready to hit him in the face. I was not impressed at all. I allowed myself to get so angry so fast that I didn’t take the few seconds it would have taken to step back and calm myself down. Instead, I stormed out of the Main House down to my site and started beating the crap out of the walls of the building. Bad idea; really bad idea. Unannounced to me Mama had stolen time away from her site and was heading to me to see if I was okay. She arrived just as I was kicking the walls in. Well, you can guess what happened next. She swung the door open and stepped in.


“What exactly do you think you are doing, little girl?”


I froze in my very tracks. Every muscle, every breath, every thought stopped dead. I knew I was in serious trouble. I had broken the number one rule I had agreed to. Temper flares of any kind for any reason were not going to be tolerated. I wasn’t going to be the adult that turn to childish temper tantrums every time things get stressful.


“Throwing a temper tantrum,” is all I could mutter looking at the floor.


“As soon as all the campers leave Saturday your butt is mine. Corner! Now!”


“Yes, Ma’am.”


“You can stay there till it’s time for the pool.”


With that, she left me to think about the position I had put myself into. Pressing my forehead against the wall I allowed all the anger and rage I had to dissipate away. All that was left was the embarrassment I had caused myself and the future embarrassment I was going to feel.



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Now here I am, sitting on the counter watching my doom ticking closer and closer; listening for every sound on the road. Praying it wasn’t Mama coming but deep down hoping it was. I’ve always hated waiting for punishment. I would rather have it done and over with. It always feels like an extra punishment waiting. It’s my worst nightmare. Finally, I heard the gravel on the road coming closer and closer. My heart jumped and I tried to force myself to take one last deep breath. The door opens.


“You can get your butt off that counter and out the back door, now.”


“Yes, Ma’am.”


“I am not impressed with your behaviour.”


“I know.”


“Belt and drop them.”


“Yes, Ma’am.”


“Over the picnic table, you go, right now.”


Obediently, I went over the table. Too afraid of what might happen if I refused. Very rarely have I ever seen Mama so upset with me that it radiated through her very veins. I was scared as I heard her raise her arm. I took a long deep breath holding it in waiting for the first stroke. When it finally came it came down hard; the long deep breath was exhaled in one long cry. Mama strapped me over and over and over again; until I was pleading for her to stop. But just like every other punishment spanking my many pleas fell on deaf ears. There was no way I was going to get out of the position I had got myself into. I knew at that moment the best thing I could do to save any amount of skin on my hot sore red bottom was to stop fighting the pain and just submit to it. I needed to allow myself to accept every stroke of the punishment I so childishly earned and deserved. I allowed each stroke to melt away my guilt and just maybe melt away the disappointment Mama was feeling in her very soul. With every stroke, my body jerked forward and I forced it back into position praying for the spanking to end. Hoping that if I submitted one hundred percent there might be a slim chance that Mama would decide to end the spanking early. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I felt the spanks becoming softer and fewer. I started to try and breathe normally again through my tears. They weren’t really tears of physical pain more emotional pain. I hate when people are disappointed in me it is worse than them being mad at me. At least anger usually has an open reaction; disappointment can just be a look. It crushes my heart every time.


“Come here to Mama, Sunny,” she said pulling me into her open forgiving arms.


“I’m sorry,” came through my tear-soaked voice.


“I know you are. You’ve been behaving like this because you’re overtired. Am I right?”


“I guess so.”


“Sunny?”


“Yes, Ma’am.”


“You’re going to take a nap till we’re ready to go into town.”


“Yes, Ma’am.”


“And tonight you are going to bed by eleven.”


"But…”


“And you can expect another spanking before bed.”


”Yes, Ma’am.”


“And you better behave when we are in town if you know what’s good for you.”


“I will. I promise.”


“Off to the tent, you go then. I’ll come to get you when we are ready.”


‘Yes, Ma’am.”


As I climbed into the tent and into my sleeping bag with my hot red bottom, I felt safe; sore but safe. Even though I knew that the reins were going to be very tight on me for the next while I still felt safe, loved, wanted, and home. I felt at home in Mama’s arms even if it was for discipline at times. Deep down I knew I deserved and longed for the discipline she was always willing to give. To hold me accountable for my childish actions that never were corrected as a child. I dosed into a nice warm sleep thinking of the upcoming spanking she had promised me before bed that night. I hoped my already hot red sore bottom would allow me to submit to the end of my well-deserved punishment.