There are people who send their kids to very ritzy expensive summer camps.
I am not one of those people.
Because I like cute clothes and highlights.
How can I afford trendy clothes and shiny, perfectly highlighted hair if I blow all my money on fancy summer enrichment programs?
So I’m sending my daughter Dylan to our local town camp. It is the best bargain ever. She did mention something last year about seeing “Seinfeld” on a rainy day but then said she might be confused. It could have been a scary dinosaur movie. So she either learned about Jerry and Elaine or prehistoric animals. The point is… she wasn’t at home taping stuffed animals to my dining room table. Like she did today.
In order to register for camp, you have to make sure you have the right forms. So the morning before registration, I make sure we have everything.
Application. Got it.
Proof of Residence. Got it.
Immunization records. Oh sweet campy cheesus. We don’t have it.
Didn’t they give me a copy of her health forms at her last check-up? Wouldn’t I have obviously filed them in the “Dylan” folder? Or did I inadvertently file them in the recycle bin?
I call the doctor’s office. I can pick up a copy in the next half hour. I ask my mother to stay and help with the kids or at least I think that’s what I said as I ran out the door, hyperventilating and mumbling something about camp. I race to the pediatrician’s office. I get the forms. Tear home. Then I call the camp to make sure I don’t need anything else I may have mistakenly stored in our garbage can.
“Oh you don’t need your immunization records. Dylan was here last summer. Her immunizations are already on your application form,” they explain.
Okay. Good to know. Perhaps a little earlier.
Anyway, this camp is a steal so you have to line up about two hours ahead of time to get your kid a spot.
Yes, people bring chairs.
I make Rick come home early from work to wait in line. My words as I rush him out the door… “Don’t let any of those mothers push you around. It can get rowdy out there.”
I quickly get a text upon his arrival, “First dad in line. 8th overall. Kick it.”
Oh yes, we got a spot.