Remember the movie ‘Predator’ with Arnold S.? He was chased through the jungle and swamps by an alien hell-bent on annihilating him or becoming his new best friend. One or the other.
That was me last week. Except I wasn’t being pursued by a 7 foot tall invisible alien. I was being hunted by a herd of 4 foot tall 11 year olds. Hunted might be too strong a word, except in my nightmares where they're chasing me through the woods looking for guidance and GoldFish Crackers.
We were at CAMP. One of the most hated words in the English language. Hated by me at least. I am not a camper. I’ve wanted to be a lot of things. Vanna White mostly. But I’ve never, ever wanted to be a camper.
Anyway, that’s what we did. The whole class at the kiddo’s school packed up and headed off to ‘Happy Cheerful Fun Camp’. We packed and packed and packed. Because even though we had to pay A LOT for camp they didn’t actually provide anything in the cabins. No towels, no sheets, no pillows, no paper towels, no refrigerator, no life size blow up George Clooney doll. If you wanted any of that stuff then you had to pack it yourself. When hubby saw the loaded down SUV he said, “How long will you be gone? A month? Did you leave any paper towels or toilet paper for me?” I don’t think that was actual panic in his voice, I’m sure it was concern for mine and the kiddo’s wellbeing.
After driving several hours to ‘Happy Freakin' Fun Camp’ we arrive and get to unload all the crap wedged into the SUV. The other moms and I drag the gallons of sunscreen and bug spray down the hill to our circa 1940’s cabin. Everything must be brought in and put somewhere. 20 sleeping bags, 25 duffle bags, several tote bags etc. Apparently none of us travel light.
When we first saw our tiny cabin the teacher said, “Look, you have a view of the lake.”
I don’t know what she was talking about because the windows facing the lake were 6 feet above our heads. We’d have to pole vault onto the ceiling fans to see anything out of those bug-caked windows. And the other windows were blocked by 16 bunk beds. View? Don’t think so.
The chaperones had to climb a LADDER to get to our sleeping loft. All of our stuff had to be hauled up and down the ‘Ladder of Death.’ The bathroom was on the first level so if you needed to go in the middle of the night, the process involved putting on flip-flops (the floor was filthy) and climbing down an 8 foot ladder in the dark while holding a flashlight. There were 8 rungs down to the floor. I tried to count them off: One…two…three…slip,thud, thud, thud, slam. Well, I made it down.
The schedule given to us by the camp counselors showed that 10:00 pm was ‘Lights Out.’ This sounded good to me. And if they hadn’t kept us out until 9:45 making the kids do some intricate clapping exercises then we might have made it to bed by 10:00.
Unless our kids grow up and join the circus or work with trained seals, I don’t know how that much clapping is going to help.
We had 20 people and 4 showers. Lights didn’t go ‘out’ until midnight, and that was after a lot of crying and whining ….some of the kids were upset too.
Some of the moms had really involved hair and beauty regimens that could NOT be skipped. At first I thought that was a waste of time but then I realized, if Bigfoot broke into the cabin, he’d take the primped and coiffed moms and leave the rest of us behind.
Although, by the third day we were all so exhausted from the freakishly happy clapping and overly cheerful counselors, that I would have thrown myself at Bigfoot’s mercy and begged him to drag me off into the woods, if I could just get some sleep. I guess he had the week off because there wasn’t one sighting of the big lazy lug.
We spent days and days (Well, 3 days, which felt like a month) applying buckets of sunscreen and enduring clouds of bug spray. FYI bug spray does not taste as good as you might think. There was a truck load of tears, lost contacts, hurt feelings, and several injuries.
On the last day, I was so tired I couldn’t even eat lunch so I just tried to get as much caffeine and sugar down to make the drive home. To sanctuary. And clean showers.
But something amazing happened as we drove out of the parking lot of “Happy @#$%^ Camp”. I had a renewal of energy. I felt positively giddy! I hadn’t been that happy since we made our great escape from Canada. I wanted to sing songs and share my euphoria, but since the other moms looked they were about to club me over the head I kept it to myself. Mostly.
P.S. The kids had a great time and everyone made it back safely.
4 comments:
That's too funny. I can relate. I did the whole school camp thing and it was for a week. I'd swap stories with you, but I've permanently erased the whole experience from my mind.
Why is it that any school activities that require parent volunteers are alarmingly similar to parachuting into the middle of Beirut?
why can't the husbands go? :)
Some of the dads did go, but they were all in other groups. The dad that was assigned to our day group had some sort of hair-care emergency and had to jet off to another part of the country the morning of the 2nd day. But the dads that were there were great with the kids.
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