Summer Camp Planning is a Hellscape, and We Need to Talk About It
Ah, summer camp. The idyllic childhood experience of roasting marshmallows, making friendship bracelets, and learning how to canoe in a questionably murky lake. Sounds great, right? Sure—if you're a kid. If you're a parent, summer camp is an absolute logistical nightmare that makes you want to throw your laptop out the window and enroll your child in the "Figure It Out Yourself" Camp of Life.
Let's break down this ridiculous gauntlet of planning hell:
The Jigsaw Puzzle from Hell
You’re trying to put together your kid’s summer—eight to ten weeks of activities that (a) won’t bankrupt you, (b) won’t ruin your work schedule, and (c) will actually provide your kid with fun and enrichment. Simple? HAHAHAHAHAHA. Nope. Instead, you get a migraine-inducing, 2,000-piece puzzle where you’re just trying to form a cohesive 108-piece picture. Because nothing aligns. Nothing.
The Utter Lack of a Centralized System
There is no single platform to browse all available camps. No easy way to filter by dates, costs, or availability. Instead, you’re bouncing between outdated PDFs, janky websites that look like they were built in 2003, and endless email chains just to find out if Camp Whateverthehell even exists this year. Half the time, you find the perfect camp, only to realize registration opened three months ago and it’s already full. Cool, cool, cool.
The Absolute Madness of Dates
You work a full-time job with predictable hours. You know what doesn’t have predictable hours? Summer camps.
Some are one week long, some are two weeks, some require a minimum of four weeks.
Some start at 9 AM and end at 12 PM (WHO is this helpful for?!). Others go from 10:30 AM to 3:45 PM. Or 8:15 AM to 2:47 PM.
Nothing aligns perfectly with anything else, meaning you spend your summer cobbling together half-day programs, panicking over gaps in coverage, and praying to the gods of childcare that it somehow works.
The Wildly Varying Costs
There is no rhyme or reason to the pricing structure of summer camps. Some are subsidized and cost as much as a weekly grocery run. Others are somehow $1,200 for a five-day session where your kid will just be gluing macaroni to paper plates. And don't even think about sleepaway camp unless you're ready to drop several grand. Because, obviously, access to nature, swimming, and bunk beds should cost as much as a used car.
The Age Limit Chaos
Want to send your 7-year-old to the same place as your 10-year-old? Good luck. Every camp has its own arbitrary age rules. Some start at 5, some at 6, some won’t take kids under 8. Some end at 10, others at 12. Why? Who knows. It’s like every camp director had a dream about the exact right age range and decided to make it law.
Allergens, Packing Lists, and Other Hidden Hurdles
Peanut-free, nut-free, gluten-free, dairy-free? Some camps are militant about it, some have zero policies. If your kid has allergies, you’re playing Russian roulette every time you sign them up.
Some require insane packing lists. Others provide nothing and expect you to send your kid with every conceivable supply. Hope you like scrambling for last-minute gear on Amazon Prime.
And let’s not forget the ridiculousness of required paperwork. Doctor’s forms, waivers, emergency contacts, sunscreen permission slips—some camps want them online, some by fax (what year is it?), some need them printed out in triplicate.
By the End, You Need a Vacation More Than Your Kid Does
After weeks of spreadsheets, comparison charts, deadline tracking, and financial gymnastics, you finally have a summer planned for your kid. You did it. You triumphed over a broken system that was absolutely not built for working parents. But are you left with a sense of accomplishment? Nope. Just exhaustion, frustration, and a creeping sense of dread that you’ll have to do this all over again next year.
Someone, please, fix summer camp planning before we all lose our minds.
I hear you. I see you. I, too, appreciate the collaborative spreadsheet-building and website-linking that each community of parents (let’s be real—moms) staples together each spring winter (MF fall). And while it’s a lifesaver for the village, it—like most things in motherhood—is yet another invisible labor that shouldn’t have to exist at this scale. Maybe, just maybe, it won’t have to forever… Stay tuned.
