Being a mother means being a Jacqueline of All Trades . . . whether we want to be or not. But we will have none of that gobbledygook about “competent at many, but master of none” because we rock just about everything. We’re moms, it’s what we do . . . buuuuttttttt . . . do we really have to rock them all by ourselves? Clearing the sink of dishes or scooping the litter box is not high level functioning.
And sure we support the hard party line of giving our kids responsibilities, but you know when the chips are down, the laundry is piling up, and the lunches still need to be packed, mom is the last line of defense.
So what’s a mom to do? Take a deep breath, repeat the mantra “it’s lovely to be needed,” and have a laugh at your own expense. Here, we’ll help you with thirteen spot-on-laughing-through-the-tears mom jobs we all can relate to.
Have you gotten to that point in the summer where–if your kids are anything like ours–you can actually see the knowledge oozing out of their ears like a Popsicle melting on a parking lot seven inches away from the concession stand?
Was this the summer you weren’t going to let that happen?
Did you gather brochures for stats camp, space camp, ninja training, and that Rodin sculpting seminar, but they’ve now been used one by one for fly swatters and gum-parking stations?
Did you have every intention of making multiplication flash cards, but haven’t mustered the enthusiasm to buy the index cards or to install the app or to use the calculator on your phone?
Did you purchase the ingredients for that Thunderstorm in a Cup experiment you saw on Pinterest, but they are still clanking around in your trunk with the jumper cables?
Did you check out the entire Charles Dickens collection with every intention of constructing a kicky homage diorama with your kids, but the books are way past due and the librarians are starting to don brass knuckles when you enter the building?
Yeah, summer enrichment seems like a great idea in April when the air is warming and life feels fresh and new. But then the End of School Year Gomorrah sucks the life out of you with the endless sports banquets AND field trips AND plays AND concerts AND awards assemblies so that even packing school lunches makes you want to strangle a bluebird.
Then summer hits with its breezy schedule and you think, “We all deserve a little break before buckling down,” and before you know it, the only exam your kids can pass is the swim test and you have the motivation of a sloth at a sleep convention to do anything about it.
Don’t bother searching for those brochures! They’re gone; get over it. We have a real solution! TAKE ‘EM TO THE CARNIVAL!
What? Don’t roll your eyes at us. Allow us to construct the excusejustification reasoning, so that by the end of all this, you’ll be calling your accountant to write off the whole adventure as an education expense.
Six Ways the Carnival is Just Like Gifted and Talented Camp
1. Future Surgeons of America
Why just learn about how the colon works when you can see it in action? Experiment with how quickly a $3.00 chili dog with three pumps of pseudo-cheese and extra relish can initiate a colon cleanse in a 40 year old woman. Which leads us to . . .
2. Olympians R Us
The Race to the Port-A-Potty Dash where we ALL win if she makes it in time. Watch her hurdle small children and hold in sharts with absolutely no grace whatsoever.
3. Smithsonian Simulation
The carnival is tons better than any textbook. It’s living history really. Where else can you hear a theatrical re-telling of “Tales of Severed Fingers and the Ferris Wheels That Caused Them” by a safety inspector who was alive during the Civil War?
4. Junior Scientists
Two words: Ball. Pit. So much surface area for so many germs. Each child can get a different disease: ebola, and chiggers, and warts, oh my! Experience is so much better than any book learnin’. CDC here we come!
5. Shakespearean ‘Xperiences
There are OODLES of opportunities for grammar lessons . . . and that’s just in the line to get ride tickets. Explain how the eff bomb is a noun, verb, and an adjective. Oh, and the reading opportunities are so varied and fun! There are signs everywhere–goodies such as “No urinating on the electrical cords” and “May cause death or mutilation.”
That brings us to everyone’s favorite . . .
6. Mathletes Mania
Your child will be able to ace the SATs before they hit puberty with problems like these:
If an unlimited ride bracelet costs a bazillion dollars and 20 tickets costs a bajillion dollars divided by 2 (take into account every ride takes an odd number of tickets, but they are only sold in even sets), how big is the second mortgage you must take out on your home to prevent your child leaving the carnival in tears because they were denied one last chance to spew chunks of their neon blue snow cone on the Tilt-A-Whirl?
See? SEE!? You a believer now? You’re welcome. Now go call your accountant about that tax break and tell them the Sensible Moms sent you.
You can just stop blinking with that doe-eyed innocence right now. We’re talking about Pains in the Asses–PITAs–and we’re talking to you!
Yeah that’s right, but rest assured we are not singling you out as a bad person. Each and every one of us has our own brand of pain in the assery–that little sliver of our personality that rears its ugly head from time to time and makes the ones nearest and dearest to us roll their eyes with abandon. We’re just asking you to embrace yours.
Now for those of you who are COMPLETE PITAs? You’ll never acknowledge who you are which is one of the reasons your flavor of PITA is in the “complete” category. Just know that if every phone call you make goes straight to voicemail, you might be a Complete PITA.
For the rest of us, here are some of the types of PITAs we’ve observed during our time on Planet Earth.
Perfectionism PITA
This is Ellen’s brand and it’s usually triggered by work standards. She can walk by a sock crumpled in the middle of the floor for a week, but darn it, anything she creates–blog posts, graphics, foot washing stations, cakes, balloon towers, life-sized zombies–makes her perfectionism kick into high gear and sends her exacting PITAssery into a collision course with whomever is closest. But really that’s only fair because it’s usually the person closest who deserves the fallout. Erin gets splattered with it all of the time. Just sayin’.
There may be other things that trigger it, but you never have to wonder because it is always direct . . . and mostly always annoying. “Let’s cut the crap and get this wrapped up” is her battle cry.
Stealth PITA
Erin likes to describe herself as a Labrador puppy–all happy go-lucky, brimming with sloppy kisses and enthusiastic tail wagging. A good portion of the world views her as easy-going. And that is true . . . until it’s not. Then it’s “Surprise! I’m going to grind everything to a screeching halt!” Ellen is always amazed by what triggers Erin to dig in her heels. There really is no rhyme or reason.
While her PITAssery is so random, it’s like waiting for a shooting star, there is a way to ignite it. Just start putting foods she loathes on her plate and watch her “You get what you get and you don’t get upset” turn into actual gagging. Or just try the magic word “cantaloupe.” That should be enough to see her undercover PITAssery bubble to the surface.
The Rules Aren’t for Me PITA
For this PITA, all of the world is a sapling ready to bend to her will, or be transplanted, or be completely ripped out by its roots and replaced by a birdbath.
She’ll sign on or up for anything because she knows conditions and plans are for other suckers, not her. No photography during the show? Well, that doesn’t mean she can’t take a picture of her princess! Open bar only has wine or beer? She will have her liquor! Of course she’ll select the fixed price menu because it’s the cheapest option but . . . “Yes, I know it’s a fixed menu, but could you replace the bruschetta appetizer with mussels, and the chicken penne with pad thai? That would be great.”
Monopolizing PITA
If you’ve ever wished you could visit the sun, just hang out with this person because she is the center of the universe. She’s the person whose sentences you feel like you can complete because YOU CAN. You’ve heard each and every one of her stories at least eleventy times plus three because she has never met a conversation she couldn’t hijack.
Oh, so you think you’re going to finish your conversation with your friends about editing software? WRONG! You’re hearing about the time Monopolizer thought she was running a 5K, but it was really a 10-miler, with her friend, Betty–“who is a hoot”–but you’re never going to meet because she now lives in Dubai and that makes Betty soooooo much more interesting than you. But rejoice that Betty is some obscure perfect friend who is halfway around the world because if she were here right now, you would be tempted to stab her in the toe with a steak knife just to give Monopolizing PITA a new story to tell.
Stir the Pot PITA
This PITA is also a conversation stopper, but instead of grinding girls’ night out to a stop from boredom, she lights it on fire. If the previous PITA’s MO is monopolize, this one’s is sabotage, and her arsenal is a nearly encyclopedic knowledge of everyone’s emotional vulnerabilities. She is a master of mercilessly digging into Achilles heels like a pair of Jimmy Choo slingbacks bought on clearance one size too small.
Enjoying silly chit chat and mojitos with your girlfriends talking about how you should all live together on a commune when you are old and retired? Not when Stir The Pot PITA marches you down the memory lane of all the squabbles everyone has had that would make living together IMPOSSIBLE. Forget fantasy living arrangements. You’ll be lucky to leave the restaurant speaking to one another.
My Problem is Your Problem PITA
This is another sneak attacker. You may not have heard from her since the calendar flipped its page, but clear your schedule now because now she has a problem and she expects you to drop EVERYTHING to solve it.
The PITAssery usually starts creeping up on you with an innocuous request: “Could I call your babysitter for Friday night?”
Easy enough. But when that sitter is unavailable, you find yourself peppered with calls, buried in text messages, and tangled in a web so sticky, you cave and cry, “I’ll just come over and babysit for you!” Just. to. make. it. stop.
“That’s great! Do you think you could bring dinner, too, because I’m swamped. Remember Billy has allergies to Swiss cheese, peanuts, and mangoes, and Sally is a vegan, tofu hating, junkfoodivore who gags over anything green.”
Superior PITA
This is probably the same as a Complete PITA. You know the one who can find everyone else’s personality hiccup without ever turning the searchlight on herself?
Wait, what?! Don’t you go labeling US with this moniker. Remember we kicked this all off roasting ourselves? Don’t be a Stir the Pot PITA.
We’ll get right to our two points since we know we only have five seconds before you flip over to Vine: “Suck it up” and “We apologize.” These need some explanation—especially since we blasted any budding intuition out of you with our confetti cannons—but if your thumbs are already twitching to scroll, we bid you adieu with these words: “FOR THE LOVE OF FUTURE GENERATIONS GET YOUR HEADS OUT OF YOUR BUTTS, DO YOUR JOBS, AND STOP WITH ALL OF THE EXCUSES!”
For those of you sticking around out of indignation (you may lack in intuition, but indignation you got), allow us to switch gears. We’ve been told that precious snowflakes like yourselves need to be handled gently because you’re doing your best and you deserve respect, dammit; human rights and all that. You saw part of a YouTube video on it over the shoulder of some guy on the train. You know what you’re talking about.
But that uncomfortable feeling you’re blaming us for because we’re bitches or at the very least unreasonable, is really the weight of expectations. We expect you to do the jobs you’re cashing in paychecks for every week. That’s not a reward for being cute, or showing up, that is money you EARN by fulfilling your job description.
Here’s the other thing, we don’t need to know the ins and outs of how you fulfill your job. We just need a time frame for when the job will be done and affirmation that it will be done.
Let’s have an example. Examples are good for learning.
Say for instance you receive this call: “Hello Crofton, I really need the projected costs of printing that I asked you for two weeks ago so that we can finalize the contract.”
Here is how not to answer: “Yeah, I don’t have them because I’m new at my job/my cat died/I’m moving/the website is being redesigned/I have a dog christening to go to . . .” Actually this example could go on forever so to summarize: DO NOT USE ANY DETAIL OF YOUR PERSONAL LIFE AS AN EXCUSE.” It does not make us feel sorry for you. In fact, it makes a majority of us want to throttle you while screaming #SORRYNOTSORRY.
Here’s the professional way to answer: “There have been a few circumstances making the collection of those numbers challenging. However, this is now at the top of my list and I will have answers for you by tomorrow morning.” But here’s the key: You now have to ACTUALLY follow through on the work. It’s sad that does not go without saying, but really, it’s not completely your fault.
So this leads into what you will appreciate: an apology. We’re sorry, not for having expectations of you, but for not having expectations of you from an early age. How can we expect you to keep your eye on the prize of completing a job when you’ve always gotten an “A for Effort!” For people who have gotten stickers for everything from acknowledging our nagging to feed the hamster to wiping your own butts; it’s probably a eureka moment to realize performance matters.
Shame on us for doling out participation trophies, turning around scoreboards when the point gap widens too much, and for celebrating bringing up D pluses to C minuses. Guess we didn’t have the forethought to realize you’d be our employees of tomorrow and that your precious “I tried” ways would motivate us to Instagram inspirational quotes about professionalism.
So we effed up and now we’re paying for it in spades. But realizing there’s a problem is half the battle, and now that you know, we believe you can turn this around. We didn’t label 87.2% of you as “gifted” for nothing. But if you can’t, we’ve realized that it’s never too late for a little tough love. There will be some lovely pink slips waiting for you. Bright side? You’re free to make them into all the confetti you desire.
It was as beautiful a fall morning as ever there was. A ray of sun filtered through Erin’s kitchen window spotlighting the telephone handset resting on the table. The two friends were uncharacteristically quiet as they sipped their coffee and the cat curled up on Ellen’s lap.
The phone rang and time seemed to slow down.
“Well, answer it. You know your voicemail is full and they won’t be able to leave a message,” Ellen said.
Erin punched the button and lifted it to her ear. Even so, Ellen could hear, “Congratulations, your loan has been approved.” The radiant smile on Erin’s face confirmed what she overheard. Ellen leapt to her feet, unceremoniously tipping the cat to the floor, to give her friend a hug.
Ellen proclaimed, “Halleluiah, the kids can their get school pictures taken!”
Erin– Well, at least that is how it feels. I have FIVE kids. Five kids, people, and a father who adores school pictures. I take beautiful shots of my kids at the beach and the park. They are natural and expressive photographs and he likes them, but he LOVES the pictures taken by “professionals” in front of official backgrounds.
Ellen– You mean the lapis lazuli vomit swirl background? Really?
Erin– Something about the official-ness of it must speak to his judicially ordered heart and we get the full package for him: the 8 x10 for the homestead stairwell and the 5 x7 for the courthouse office. We spare no expense for the big man.
Ellen – Well, at least someone likes them. I swear I spend a fortune every year, and they just sit in my china cabinet undistributed. This partly due to the fact that they just aren’t a good product, but, to be honest, I let some things slip through the cracks too. I just feel so guilty if I don’t purchase them, like I’m making some larger public statement about how much I love and value my kids.
Erin– I got your guilt. This, from Eddie’s teacher, who laid down the guilt gauntlet real good: “Just because he is the fifth child doesn’t mean you shouldn’t buy the picture package.”
Ellen – Ouch!
Erin– Oh, it gets better. I caved and paid for the pictures. Then. . .
“Everyone had wonderful pictures! You are going to be so excited to see them.” Long pause. “Except for Eddie. We had to take his picture 35 times. The entire class was late to library because of it.”
Ellen– Did you get the bonus didn’t-want-to-make-eye-contact-staring-awkwardly-and-silently-at-the-ground pantomime from the rest of the moms because you were being scolded?
Erin– The end result was just as I predicted: a sourpuss picture of a disgruntled kid. I can get that any day of the week just by telling him no. I don’t need it staring out of a frame at me.
Ellen – I know that look. He seems to get it when we mention blogging, too. Poor tortured soul.
Erin – But the real not-so-subliminal message to the world that we might not have our shizz together came when my fourth child had his picture taken . . . in his sports goggles. My sons, the future Rhodes Scholars, decided to play war THE NIGHT BEFORE class pictures, and, as any parent with 15 minutes of experience could tell you, things got ugly. And fast.
Luckily, the only casualties were Deacon’s glasses and my patience.
Ellen– Luckily, really!?! That seems to be an understatement, Pollyanna.
Erin– Okay, we weren’t really lucky. Deacon’s eyes cross without his corrective eyewear, so a pic without glasses was never an option. I called the optometrist, but I can still hear them chuckling at the ridiculousness of my emergency request of making super special prescription glasses in 30 minutes. That’s right. I could hear THEM sharing the can-you-believe-what-this-crazy-mom-just-asked laugh—it was worthy of a group giggle.
My last resort without time or luck on our side were his sports goggles. His big, black, thick goggles complete with strap around the back. While I may cherish this picture and the fond, fond memories it brings, the other moms definitely looked askance at me after that and offered up fashion advice and lots of it.
Erin models the goggles. Saying, “Not tonight honey,” without saying a word.
Ellen – The pressure of the class picture can make you crack. And you just keep telling yourself that message is subliminal. Those bad boys shout out, “This family is really just a steaming ball of hot mess.” Those pictures can’t be hidden in the china closet. They are up for worldwide distribution.
Erin– No one is feeling you more than me right now, Sister.
Ellen– There is the whole what to wear thing EVEN when there is no vanity involved. I’m not talking prissy girls throwing tantrums because they don’t have a shirt to perfectly match the blue of their eyes. I’m talking school-wants-to-make-everything-a-pain-in-my tuckus -because-no-one can-crosscheck-a-calendar.
School Admins: Ruining Mornings Since Little House on the Prairie
Erin – I’m just gonna say it OUT LOUD: Jostens and Lifetouch are the cartels, but the schools are the Dr. Evil kingpins pulling the strings and making us dance.
Ellen – For real! For this round of pictures, we got the form for pictures three days before the big day. With Spirit Week, Homecoming, and Halloween gobbling up October, this did not jump to the top of my priority list.
Flash to the morning of pictures and Jellybean comes down dressed like a hobo ready to clean out the garage.
“Honey, today is picture day. Why are you wearing old sweat pants?”
Jellybean-“Because it is the fitness test today in gym.”
Seriously, I’m shelling out $30 for pictures (cheapest substantial package) and the school scheduled the fitness test on the same day?
“Honey, they are taking the CLASS picture today. We can’t have you distributed to multiple households looking like a refugee or one of Erin’s offspring. What about that cute dress you wore on vacation?”
Jellybean- (possibly a little tearful from me calling her a refugee) “But we have to do push-ups, pull-ups, and sit-ups. I can’t wear a skirt!”
Ellen- “So what time is gym?”
Jellybean – “First period.”
Of course it is.
Ellen- “So you’re telling me that no matter what you wear, you’ll be a hot mess anyway by the time pictures roll around?”
Oy.
Ellen– So tick tock goes the clock, we go upstairs and settle on a embellished tank with a sweater, jeans, and Converse. Whatever, I surrender. The kicker? The gym teacher was absent so the fitness test was cancelled. Winner? The school for messing up my morning for no reason except its own evil entertainment.
Erin – Seriously, we have 7 kids between us so the complaints and reminiscing could go on forever. Let’s not forget that school pictures cornered you into highlighting Coco’s hair. But you do have to love the comedy in school pictures, too and what’s more entertaining than sharing OUR throwbacks to school picture days gone by.
Ellen – Are we really doing this?
Erin – I modeled the sports goggles. My pride is not an issue for this post.
Erin
Ellen – One of the first things Erin said when she handed me this picture? “Can you believe they didn’t even straighten my necklace?” Yes, that was exactly the first thing I was incredulous about.
Erin – Whatever. Your turn.
Ellen – I’m actually proud about how far I have come.
Erin – You should be.
Ellen’s 7th Grade Picture. Believe me, the resolution is good enough.
Ellen – So clearly Erin is classier than me. I chose the group picture because I was not going down alone. We will close with Josten’s Mission Statement because, really, I would like for the whole blogosphere to tell them to suck it.
Erin – Just one more thing I would like to add: Creating images that will cause your offspring to roll on the floor laughing at you with glee in their eyes. Have at them, Blogosphere!
So you’ve decided to sign your darling up for a sports team. Unless you have a chauffeur, a nanny, or a flux capacitor to split yourself in two, you’re going to need a mom posse. And if you do have those things, what the hell are you doing? Go get yourself a nap, a merlot, and a pedicure.
In the land of youth sports, it’s the luck of the draw who you get to hang with for the season. You need to swim in the pool you paid for, so to speak. The kicker? You’ve never needed help more. There will come a time when older brother needs to go in one direction, your Pele-in-the-making needs to get to the play-offs in the other direction, dad is trapped at work . . . in Dhubai, and the cat is puking out its pancreas. But this situation goes from doom to doable if you have a mom posse to fall back on to at least take Pele to soccer. You’re on your own with the puking feline.
The secret to the posse is to choose wisely and develop it early.
1. Preparation starts at home. The first practice is not the time to be rocking your best boots, 7 For All Mankinds, and perfect blow-out. It makes you look like you don’t really need the help. If that is the case, rock it out, Sister, but if you do need help, you might want to dial down the mom glam for now.
But don’t let the pendulum swing too far the other way. Holey pajama pants and grungy slippers gives off the impression you feed your kids PopTarts for dinner, your entire family is sharing one towel, and most importantly, you don’t have your shizz together enough to transport someone else’s precious babies. Remember, the posse is all about reciprocity. Aim for approachable – best yoga pants, clean top, and neat ponytail. We’re not suggesting being Ms. Fakety-Fake, just don’t let it all hang out until, let’s say, practice six.
2.Get to the first practice early. Posses are for carpooling so safety comes first. Watch the other parents roll up in the parking lot. If a driver doesn’t at least slow down to 5 mph before opening those minivan sliding doors to eject her spawn, then you might want to mark her off the potential chauffeur list.
3.Follow the herd. When everyone is sitting together like ducks in a row, line your chair up too, Buttercup. If the group decides that selling blood is the best way to pay for the team’s new warm-ups, roll up a sleeve and offer a vein. On second thought, you may want to run, but in most cases now is not the time to be the Lone Ranger. Your kid’s not the only one who joined the team. Every time you make an effort, you’re upping your posse potential.
4.Start chatting parents up to see where they live. Carpooling only makes your life easier if it doesn’t take you a tank of gas to take the extra darlings home. Try not to be creepy scoping out addresses, though. If you can’t ask where someone lives without triggering a background check, work that smartphone. Take a picture of the team and show it to your potential posse member, “Look how cute this is!” If she just grunts, consider the screening process to be in full swing and move on. If she coos, say, “Hey, are you on Facebook? I could tag you in it.” If you become friends on Facebook, you are golden! You not only have access to location, you can make sure they don’t participate in demonic goat square dancing . . . or at least they’re discreet enough not to post about it.
WARNING: Do not scroll through and “Like” every one of her pictures because you’ll be detouring through Creepytown. Remember, you were trying to avoid that?
5. Work your kid. This will go a whole lot smoother if you correlate your connections with your kid’s buddies. Don’t fall into the trap of setting up a carpool with the second baseman who wipes his boogers on your son’s glove. Building friendships is good for your child and good for you and nothing builds friendships faster than sleepovers. Suck it up and send out an invite. Just make sure your bathrooms are clean and you remember to feed the kids. Passing out bananas for dinner doesn’t put you at the top of any posse lists.
6.Be the posse member you want to attract. Offer to help a mom you see in distress, carry that über complete first aid kit so you can save the day, create the hang out spot for the kids on your snazzy waterproof picnic blanket, hand puppies out from the back of a van . . . wait, scratch that last one. Just be a team player.
7. Send up a flare. If subtle action fails, don’t be afraid to beg. In fact, lay out your situation in an email or surely you could work it into a conversation during that 3 hours on the sidelines. It’s time to tamp down that pride, put on your big girl panties, and ask for exactly what you need. The people who respond when they know your chips are down are just the type of people you want in your life any way.
Bottom line: Mom posses make all these extracurriculars “posse”-ble. (Yeah, insert rim shot here.) So get out there and make a carpool buddy today! Friends don’t let friends drive both ways to practice two days in a row!
Did you just go check your teeth in the mirror? Did you??
We would LOVE to think we have that much power, but if you are anything like us, you would’ve gotten halfway to the mirror, gotten distracted by a pile of shoes, put the shoes away, hauled out the vacuum, done a load of laundry, fed the kids and then realized, “Oh yeah, I don’t wear lipstick in the summer time.”
This is more like our summertime jam . . .
But the real point is, we are the type of gals who would TOTALLY tell you if your pearly whites were smudged and we surround ourselves with women who would do the same . . . even online.
Oh, you want to know why you should buy the book? You need more than, “Because we said so?” Well, here is a little teaser taste, a tapas, if you will.
Enjoy this little morsel from our essay.
Is Forty Fabulous?
If forty is really so fabulous, then why do people keep spoon feeding us with the force of a front end loader the notion that “Forty is the New Thirty”? Stop throwing us in the deep end of the fountain of youth. We are comfortable in our Spanx encased skins and we want to be toasted with soy lattes for the wisdom we have gained and the goals we have achieved, not the size of our pores.
And this one from Tracy at Momaical will make you laugh out loud!
The Gym: A Place Where Muscles and Gag Reflexes Go To Workout
On the tour of your new gym facility you are shown the pool, spa, sauna, workout and yoga rooms. What they fail to give you is a warning about the WOMEN who frequent the locker room. Some of the things you see there will shock, horrify, astound and amuse you. It’s not for the weak of heart. Or stomach.
Going Off the Deep End: A Tale of Swimsuits Gone Wrong
They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger – and the stories of my bathing suits from summers’ past are no exception to the rule. If people have skeletons in their closet, mine are wearing swimwear – just hanging there as a reminder of the horrors I endured from poor choices, wrong sizes, and unsuitable designs for my body type.
There will be giveaways and other fun things coming up. Until that time, thank your lucky stars for girlfriends and shared visits to powder rooms. And keep it classy . . . like us.
Wake up, Parents! Summer is right around the corner! If you want your little darlings to get spots in those dream camps that will secure their places on the World Badminton team, guarantee them first chairs in the kazoo orchestra, teach them to knit earmuffs for underprivileged yetis, or just get them out of your hair for a week, then you need to be on this. Like yesterday!
Erin: All of my dreams are fiscally conservative, and in my experience the cheap camps are the first to fill up.
Ellen: Well, I got a brochure for a camp that’s in no danger of filling up: The Country School Farm: An Experience For Children Who Love Animals.
Here is the actual daily schedule:
They put the fun in nothing.
Erin:They list chores no less than three times without even a crackling of sugar coating and then with a little more guile at least three more times. Projects? Never has a word been more worthy of air quotes.
Erin: But how much for this Dickensian work camp?
Ellen: Five days of Nirvana for only $780 plus travel expenses to Ohio.
Erin:Wait! What!?! That camp is getting PAID that much to have kids shipped there to do their farm work!?!
Ellen: Yep. For ages SIX to twelve.
Erin:Drop whatever you’re doing, because we’re founding a camp!
The Sisterhood Chain Gang Summer Camp
For 50 bucks, a case of Diet Coke, and 4 pounds of Starbucks Coffee (whole bean), you can send your child to the paradise that is the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Your child will have the time of his or her life in not one, but two bucolic locations. Your child will get to view two beautiful rivers through the safety of a minivan’s back window, as we whisk your precious babe from one work site fun-filled location to another. (Upon further reflection, we’re going to need $20 in gas money too. And snacks. You should definitely pack snacks. We’re partial to Cheez-its and Double-Stuffed Oreos.)
Boredom is unknown at The Sisterhood Camp. From sunup to sundown your child can partake in the following activities specially developed to hone skills, build confidence, and make our (particular) world a better place to live.
Environmental Stewardship
With an eye to creating future leaders concerned about a cleaner, greener planet, we will teach your innocents to Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle like a boss! We’ll even throw in an “R” unique to The Sisterhood Camp—Relieve us of our clutter.
The fun never stops as campers clean out typical hoarders’ garages. The kids have the times of their lives as they race to see who can fill the dumpster the fastest. Winner gets to take a water break. But that’s not all! Campers get to visit the local landfill and shake the hands of the sanitation workers too!
Back at the camp, they will join our special “Make this, Martha!” seminar in which they use duct tape, spray-paint, and hot glue to transform junk into masterpieces. At The Sisterhood Camp, we believe you can turn any trash into a treasure that can earn us a couple of bucks at the local flea market!
Just waiting for your child’s elbow grease!
But it’s not all just good times, we pride ourselves in putting the work in “Working to Make This World a Greener Place.” Hours will be spent every day breaking down and sorting materials for recycling. We even offer a special “Box Cutting 101” safety course for our more seasoned campers because with this much work to be done, we don’t have time to go to the E.R..
Trailblazing
Once the campers have proven themselves indoors, they are ready for the great outdoors or at least the trail behind Erin’s house! They’ll spend the day working on miles of trail and be rewarded by sleeping in tents that night! What better incentive to make that ground level, clear, and poop free than knowing they’ll be sleeping on it!
The highlight of the day— for most of them— is learning to use a chainsaw and axe. On a separate note, campers will also learn more advanced first aid i.e. securing a tourniquet.
Textile Resuscitation
Now don’t worry, we haven’t left out evening activities! We let each camper do at least one load of laundry every day and more if they’ve behaved! We will teach them the finer points of Stain Discernment and Treatment, Determining the Best Detergent for the Load, The Fine Art of Reading Labels, and The Ins and Outs of Folding. Top off the day with a special “Sort the Socks” game!
And We Did Not Forget About Recreation . . .
We stand by our motto, “We put the blood, sweat, and tears into having fun.” In fact, we’ll have your precious ones iron that on t-shirts to forever remember their time here because blisters don’t last forever.
Camps with pools are a dime a dozen, but where else can a child learn how to build a pool? Your child will sludge through the process from permit to pool chemistry. And, as an added bonus, they will become one with the earth as they dig that bad boy out by hand because minors aren’t allowed to operate backhoes, we checked.
And as an added added bonus they will become wizards at time management. If they need to work through dinner to pour that concrete, gosh darnit, they will buckle down and do it. Cement cures on its own schedule and schedules are meant to be followed. People are expecting a pool for the annual Labor Day party. And a fire pit.
