On Saturday, I spent the hours between 8:30AM - 10:30AM in a nervous, over-caffeinated state of anticipation, because Saturday, January 14th marked the first day of summer camp sign-ups for my family.
Lest you think January 14th, 2023 was the first day summer camp started to pollute my brain, allow me to disabuse you. A friend sent me a spreadsheet entitled “Summer Camp Hellscape” on January fourth.

Upon tweeting this tweet, many, MANY people swooped in to clarify that summer camp angst had entered their lives far earlier than January fucking fourth; some starting fretting about summer camp in September. Some had to sign up for summer camp 2023 upon the conclusion of summer camp 2022! So while I understand that having to start multiple spreadsheets, conversations, and text threads in January is preferable to having to start weighing the pros and cons of a soccer camp 5 miles a way (but only a half day!) versus a seacoast science camp 30 minutes away (but full day!) in October, it still absolutely sucks.
It sucks because it requires significant coordination, anxiety over “getting in” (ie accessing childcare plus kid fun), money, and time. As the self-appointed summer camp czar in our family, I spend hours each winter texting at least 4 separate group threads about various summer camp plans. Some of this is my own doing - early on in their elementary school tenure, I (foolishly) signed my kids up for camps with their friends, and now it’s become an expectation. YES, OF COURSE, I could simply stop doing this, but for whatever reason, this is one particular way I’ve chosen to invest my mothering energy - giving my kids the gift of familiarity at theatre camp, outdoor adventure camp, and Lego camp.
On Saturday, January 14th, a coastal summer camp opened registration for members only at 9AM. While I genuinely love the place hosting the camp and believe in the importance of the work that they’re doing in terms of education and environmental stewardship, the main reason I have a membership is so that I can access early camp sign-up. This is not NOT bullshit.
At 9:02, I felt my shoulders relax ever so slightly upon receiving my email confirmation of a successful registration for a single week of summer camp. I went on to live another day of summer camp sign-ups, knowing that my summer camp planning will not end until the last sign-up, which occurs on March 15th.
At 9:27, a friend texted the thread the following: “WTF - waitlist only!” One of her kids had taken a face-plant onto the kitchen counter, and she had been too busy DEALING WITH BLOOD to be at her computer at 9AM. This particular camp opens up registration to non-members on February 1st. It goes without saying that non-members will be shit out of luck come February 1st.
Summer camp planning is a pain in the ass for all parents, but it’s completely inaccessible for some parents. There are so many layers of inequity making up the summer camp ecosystem.
You need a certain level of familiarity with local options to make any sort of informed decision about which summer camps might be best for your family. My sister-in-law has two preschool aged children, so hasn’t yet embarked on Summer Camp Sign-up Hell, and was asking me recently if there was any centralized system through which parents could view the various local camp options. I laughed and said something about her being sweet newborn lamb before informing her that NO, there is nothing whatsoever centralized or streamlined or user-friendly about summer camp sign-ups. Every camp has a different registration date. Every camp has a different waitlist policy. Every camp has a different cancellation policy. And it goes without saying that camps fluctuate wildly in price.
Speaking of price, to “succeed” at Summer Camp Sign-up Hell, you need to shell out hundreds (sometimes thousands if we’re talking about an entire summer worth of enrichment for kids and CHILDCARE for parents) of dollars. While some camps offer scholarships or financial aid, the fact that low-income parents have to face the stress of finding affordable childcare every summer without any safety nets in place is absolutely unconscionable, and yet another example of a broken US caregiving system. Some have proposed abolishing summer vacation, others have suggested federal funding to assure that all children have access to safe, enriching care during the summer months, but for now, millions of US children (and their parents!) will face 2-3 months of stress (financial, emotional, physical). There are no good options for folks who work outside of the home and cannot afford $425 per week (per kid!) for their child to have fun in the woods and receive quality childcare.
Summer camp coordination is the type of care task that typically falls on women. Despite advances in gender equity within households, moms still do roughly 65% of domestic labor (scheduling and coordinating childcare is domestic labor, and summer camp is supposed to be fun for kids, sure, but for parents, it functions primarily as childcare). Moms are still more likely to be the parent who participates in parent text threads, who knows what their kids’ friends are doing for the summer, who takes the time to research various camps and ultimately decide which ones work best for the family. As I mentioned before, I am the summer camp czar in my family. My various skillsets (obsessive attention to detail being one of them) make me better suited for summer camp planning rather than, for example, basketball coaching and after-school ski program chauffeuring, both of which Brett does well and both of which I would both hate/suck at. So while I’m satisfied with my decision to take on this particular domestic task, I found this TikTok by the brilliant Laura Danger really useful in unpacking why the invisibility of my labor undercuts the value of the labor itself. I bitch about summer camp planning occasionally to Brett, but I’ve never sat down with him and underscored exactly what is entailed, or how much time and energy I invest each year. As Laura points out, such conversations not only make invisible labor visible, they create more clarity between partners about who is doing what and how each person’s labor is adding value to the household.
As with most things related to the institution of motherhood in the US, there are no easy, simple solutions for individuals attempting to provide their kids with memorable, sun-drenched summer memories while also being able to keep their jobs! Until the systems that be are overhauled, summer camp planning will continue to be horrible and will continue to be inaccessible to many. This is just me offering some solidarity and some context for why summer camp planning sucks so very much. WTF WTF WTF (and thank goddess for spreadsheets and organized friends).
I thought I was being super on top of it and, in December, went to sign my daughter up for her desired sleepaway camp and discovered there were no spots left. I'd signed her up for camp for the first time in summer 2021 and had waited until like March or April and it was fine! Spots aplenty! It turns out that was probably due to COVID and now everyone is going back to camp and I had a very false sense of how on the ball I needed to be in order to get her a spot. I'm lucky my partner doesn't work in the summer, so we are looking at camps for fun and not for critically needed childcare, and it is still stressful AF.
What is summer camp? How long is it? Do parents go? It kind of sounds amazing. I weirdly didn’t know summer camp was a real thing I thought it was just in the movies. Fascinated by all of this from Aotearoa!