The unmitigated horror of S*mMer C**mP sign-ups

A Very Scary Story

Friends, it’s that time of year again. That time of year when we gird our loins, don our armor, set our alarms, and pray to the gods of summer camp purgatory we’ll somehow make it through sign-ups unscathed.

Last year, I barely did. And THIS (cue the Law and Order dun-dun sound here) is my story.

Before we continue, I must post a HUGE content warning for:

• gendered expectations of labor

• our country’s sweet notion that children don’t require childcare during in June, July, and August

• our country’s adorable idea that all families include an adult who can devote HERself entirely to childcare in June, July, and August

• our country’s complete disregard for families who cannot afford to pay WHATEVER IT COSTS for swimming/kayaking/painting/soccer/metalsmithing/slime/CHILDCARE in June, July, and August

• online forms

• every single symptom of flight or flight

• an excruciating level of detail

• a shocking lack of perspective

If you’d like a less EMOTIONAL (it’s def still emotional but unlike the missile you’re about to be assaulted by, you won’t need a Xanax after reading it) take on the inequities of summer camp, you can read this.

Summer Camp Sign-up Hell

Exhale.

As of February 18th, 2024, I had signed my 11-year-old up for 2 weeks of soccer camp, one of basketball camp, one of town pool camp, and one of wilderness adventure camp. For each of these camps, I had coordinated with countless other parents and consulted several spreadsheets and photos of scribbled notepads. As of the morning of February 19th, I still had to sign him up for two more weeks of camp.

As of February 18th, 2024, I’d signed my 9-year-old up for one seacoast camp (which I withdrew her from because she protested), 2 weeks of soccer camp, one week of wilderness adventure camp, and two weeks of town pool camp. As of the morning of February 19th, I still had to sign her up for two weeks of camp.

I signed my four-year-old up for the ONLY all-summer-long camp of the bunch in January and I thank the camp powers that be for one small miracle.

Anyway, the night before THE MORNING OF RECKONING, I did a final check with the 832 parents I’ve been coordinating with, did a final scan of the relevant documentation, and set my alarm for 6AM in order to prepare adequately for a 7AM sign up. I told Brett I would be unavailable for all child requests and that I’d be locking myself into our bedroom. A quick note! Summer camp-signups (and after-school club sign-ups and playdates and sports signups and teacher workshop day plans and Valentine’s day card coordination and and and) is unpaid labor way too often managed by mothers (as opposed to fathers) which is bullshit the end. For full transparency, I think Brett and I have divided this labor pretty evenly, but in the case of camp sign-ups, I (UNHEALTHILY) am too scared to give up any control. Visions of Brett signing on at like 7:04 and thinking THAT WOULD BE OK haunt me. So here I am. Mostly in a hell of my own making.

Ok.

At some point on the night before the BIG MORNING, I woke up drenched in sweat from a nightmare in which I woke up in a blurry haze at 7:03 at which point I screamed, a la Marlon Brando except I was screaming NOOOOOO instead of STELLLAAAAAA. I checked my clock and went back to [fitful] sleep.

BUT WHAT ABOUT METALSMITHING CAMP!!!!!!!!!!!

At a later point that night, I woke up from a nightmare in which I couldn’t find my computer OR my tea and I had only 13 minutes until signup opened.

At a still later point in the night, I woke up from a nightmare in which I begged the people in charge of summer camp to let me WORK FOR THE CAMP as an acting teacher so my kids would get camp-counselor-parent privilege and have access to the camp I had failed to sign them up for because yet again I had woken up at 7:03 on the day of sign-up.

By the grace of something, the fateful morning (the real one) finally came. I woke up at 5:30 and began nervously texting my fellow comrades in arm.

Finally 6:59 came. I refreshed like my life depended on it before ripping off my sweater due to sweat despite the fact that the blood in my veins had turned to ice.

At 7:00, I can only say that I left my body and entered into a new state of consciousness.

I desperately need you to understand that this signup isn’t as simple as like - clicking on two weeks and then blithely entering credit card information.

I had to click on T E N different little fucking boxes in a sea of other boxes. For both of the older kids, I had to select the correct weeks, THEN select their morning camp, THEN select their afternoon camp, AND THEN select the Friday fucking field trip because yeah guys these camps run from M-TH!!!!!!!! Sorry I’ve started sweating again. I’m not yelling AT YOU but I’m yelling AT SOMEONE.

Miraculously, I did everything correctly and hit “check-out.”

The system brought me to a page from the deepest recesses of hell in which I saw S E V E N different “camper registration packets” that I (APPARENTLY?!?!?!!!?) had to fill out before BEGGING THEM TO TAKE MY MONEY.

Hands shaking so violently I could barely type, I filled in all the asterisked sections, said fuck off to the non-asterisked sections, and wrote “none” in all the insurance boxes because there was no way in hell I was going to be taken down by a fucking insurance policy number.

I finished the forms. I clicked WHATEVER IT WANTED ME TO CLICK.

All of a sudden, instead of seeing the sweet sweet relief of a receipt or a CONFIRMATION OF ANYTHING INCLUDING MY WILL TO LIVE I’m on the home page of the camp sign-up. The little shopping cart icon (sorry currently dry-heaving at the mere memory of what happens next gimme a quick sec) W A S . . . . . . E M P T Y !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!😱!!!!!!!!!!!!! ❗❗❗❗😱❗❗❗😱⚰️💥💥💥😱⚠️⚠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️😱😱

This is the moment that almost broke me. I didn’t even bother looking at the 713 texts coming in like rapid fire because this was the moment I knew I was truly alone in the world and that no one could save me. It’s how I imagine approaching death must feel. I almost burst into tears. I almost gave up. I checked my email praying against all odds to see an email confirmation. Obviously it wasn’t there. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that I don’t remember how I inputted the T E N fucking camp signups a-fucking-gain. But I did. And TO BE SURE, I was waitlisted for the Friday field trips. I believe that sure, a mom might be able to lift trucks in a brief moment of super human strength in order to save her kid’s life, but the fact that I was able to complete this particular camp signup has made me believe in the divinest of all divines. I kinda think I should write a new bible because I am clearly a blessed soul. I am chosen. I am a god.

*This was initially published (after being written in duress) here.