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As the summer juggle approaches, IMAGE Editorial Director and co-host of The IMAGE Motherload Dominique McMullan asks, can someone explain why summer camp times are designed by the devil?
I saw an Instagram post recently, one with sentimental music and a caption about long, lazy summer days with the kids, ‘going slow’, eating ice creams, sticky fingers, sandy toes, etc. You know the type. On reading it my eyes rolled so far back in my head that I could admire the hard work being done by my dry shampoo. Good for them I thought (lie), but my guess is that whoever wrote that saccharine ode has never navigated July and August as a parent working outside the home.
Summer. For some the word conjures feelings of freedom, adventures, swims and BBQs. But for my brethren and I, it conjures terror. A logistical nightmare. Days spent trying to be in two places at once and pretending it’s all easy breezy. A patchwork of grannies, playdates, teenage childcare and mainlining cartoons. Usually involving frantic Google searches and Facebook pleas for an available (and affordable) minder (with a car), followed by gnawing guilt because you only have EIGHTEEN SUMMERS with your little cherub… SO WHY ARE YOU SUCH A TERRIBLE MOTHER.
And then there are the summer camps. Oh, the summer camps. A necessary lifeline, a way to ensure the little people are at least semi-supervised and god forbid, engage in a vaguely enriching activity. But can someone please explain who designs these things? Because I’m pretty sure their scheduling was lifted directly from the fiery depths, specifically designed to torture us. 10am starts? 2pm finishes? If you are LUCKY?! In what universe does this slot into a standard workday? The timings are utterly, bafflingly impractical.
So, what’s the reality? A frantic juggling act. Rushing to get to your own work started before the camp even opens, sending emails while pouring the milk. The guilt-ridden dash to drop them off, knowing you’re already behind. Calls and meetings in the car with Zoom open on your lap. Then, just as you’re hitting your stride, the looming pick-up. Back in the car and another chunk of your workday swallowed in reverse. Late nights and post-bed time catching up.
10am starts? 2pm finishes? In what universe does this slot into a standard workday?
What’s most hilarious is that we pay for the privilege. These slivers of supervised activity often come with a price tag that can rival a small mortgage payment.
That idyllic image of ‘going slow’ summers? Maybe one day. But for many of us, summer feels more like running a chaotic marathon, fuelled by the sheer will to keep all the plates spinning. And I’m one of the lucky ones, fortunate enough to be able to take August off using parental leave, giving me some of that precious time with my kids. But I know that’s a luxury many parents simply don’t have.
To the creator of that lazy summer post on Instagram, I say this: come spend a week in the shoes of a parent working outside the home in July. Try explaining to your boss why you need to leave early again for the camp pick-up. Try peeling your kids away from their 75th episode of Ninjago when all they really want is your attention. Summer for us isn’t hazy. It’s a tactical operation. And frankly, the summer camp timings feel like a cruel joke by someone who has clearly never had to make it work.
Solidarity to all of you out there, and see you in September.
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