I'm Amanda Peterson, a marketing manager in Brooklyn, New York. My son Noah just started fourth grade, and this summer, he begged to go to a five-day sleep-away cooking camp. I said yes, but the moment I dropped him off Monday morning, my stomach was in knots. This was his first time away from home overnight—five whole days without me. The camp allowed phones for emergencies and a nightly Zoom call, but parents couldn't call in. By 3 PM that first day, I was pacing my office, imagining Noah crying in a corner. That's when I quietly opened FamiSafe's one-way audio feature, just to know he was okay. What I heard changed everything.
Meet the Peterson Family Story
From Helicopter Hovering to Healthy Distance: Learning to Let My Nine-Year-Old Fly
Our Family's Struggle
Challenge
Monday morning, I packed Noah's duffel bag three times. "Mom, I'm fine. Stop worrying!" he said, rolling his eyes as I triple-checked his phone charger. But when I hugged him goodbye at the camp entrance, my eyes filled with tears. He'd never been away from home for more than a sleepover. What if he got homesick? What if the other kids were mean? What if he couldn't sleep? Back at my desk, I couldn't focus. I kept checking my phone. At 3 PM, I cracked. I opened FamiSafe and activated the one-way audio feature, just to hear his voice. I heard kids laughing in the kitchen, pots clanging, an instructor saying, "Great job, Noah! Your pasta looks perfect!" Relief washed over me. He sounded happy. But then came the 7 PM Zoom call. Noah's face appeared on my screen, and his voice went small. "Mom, I miss you. The food isn't as good as yours." My heart broke. Before I could respond, the call ended—time was up. I spent the rest of the evening imagining him crying alone in his bunk.
Solution
At 8 PM, I couldn't take it anymore. I activated FamiSafe's audio feature one more time, expecting to hear sniffles. Instead, I heard giggles. "Dude, that pasta was awesome!" one kid said. "Yeah, and tomorrow we're making pizza!" another chimed in. Then I heard Noah—my supposedly homesick Noah—laughing. "I told my mom I missed her food. Maybe she'll buy me that new video game when I get home." The other kids cracked up. I sat there stunned, then started laughing myself. He was fine. Better than fine—he was thriving. He'd been playing me during that Zoom call. That's when I realized: my anxiety wasn't helping him. It was about me, not Noah. Over the next four days, I checked in less. Just a quick listen before bed to make sure he was safe and sleeping. By Friday, when I picked him up, he was wearing a "Best Junior Chef" medal and bouncing with excitement. "Mom, I made carbonara! Can we get the ingredients? I want to cook dinner tonight!" That evening, Noah stood at our stove, chef's hat on, making pasta for the whole family. I watched him—confident, independent, glowing—and knew I'd made the right choice.