Esther McCarthy: Summer camps, and why they're essential for school holiday survival
"Camps buy time and space. They let us work, rest, and even — don’t tell them I said this, I’ll deny it — miss our kids a tinchy bit."
The summer, even the Irish kind, has many attributes for which we parents must be thankful.
It’s a time to take a break from all the rushing and racing of term-time schedules, for one thing.
I don’t miss cooking the grub, with the laptop on the counter, to throw into containers for them to eat in the car, while roaring out instructions to where a gum shield might be (it’s with all those single socks, the tops of the Pritt sticks, and the one missing puzzle piece from every jigsaw that’s ever had the misfortune to come into the house).
Every evening, there’s multiple activities happening in various locations.
‘Your own stupid fault for joining them in the first place!’ I hear you shout.
Well, yes, you’re right, reader, but it’s too late for recriminations now, crankyhole, it is what it is, and I just have to keep getting them where they need to be, with enough protein in their bodies and makeshift mala gumshields that hopefully won’t poison them.
But during the summer, everything eases off (except our local GAA, but I’m just happy the lads still have some semblance of a routine) and you remember why you signed your precious progeny up to everything in the first place.
They’re really quite annoying. They demand attention, and entertainment, and sustenance ALL THE TIME.
This is where the camps come in.
Depending on what type of parent you are, camps fall into two distinct categories.
The first category is parents who actually care about what their kids are interested in.
They tend to only have one camp-appropriate aged child, and they’ll bring them out for special mummy and daddy time in early January for a Kiddychino in a cool cafe to have a family meeting about what Firstborn Goldenballs (FBGB) would like to do this summer.
Then they’ll meticulously research the credentials of the manga comic book art teacher, and if that mofo hasn’t got a three-year deal with Pixar or didn’t go viral with a Spider-Man tutorial during covid, he’s unlikely good enough for their precious FBGB.
They are happy to travel too, if the Mummy Who Knows Best WhatsApp group has it that the STEAM tutorial three towns away has the edge on the one being held in the local parish hall, then this Mama will happily drive the extra two-and-a-half hours there and back.
It gives her more bonding time with FBGB, and a chance for them both to listen to a podcast on healing your inner child by coding with your outer one.
The second category of parent is a household where both parents work, and they probably popped out one too many sprogs to be able to offload them to family members with a straight face.
Around the third week in June, they have full-blown panic attacks and nearly divorce over who’s responsibility it is to mind the kids now that the teachers have selfishly stopped doing it.
Cúl Camp is the only one they’ll have prebooked. The kid wants the kit, and the backpack is fierce handy.
After that, they’ll shove them in whatever camps have any spaces left, regardless of suitability. It could be concrete patio-building classes in Youghal — as long as it keeps them occupied from 9am to 2pm, sign um up.
Hey, if they’re happy to go to a sports camp run by a sugary cereal, they can fit in to Bible Classes for Atheists, Surf Camp for Armband Bandits, and Butchery Techniques 101 for Vegans.
But it all works out in the end. The car pool kicks in with that blessed, precious, organised mum who knows how to do a spreadsheet for lifts to Ballyhass.
Random kids end up in your house and they do what you have all but admitted defeat on… persuading your child that bird plops do not, in fact, render the trampoline useless and the bounce rate is the same as pre The Great Gull Guano Bombing of 2024.
Making a new friend outside of school and local sports is so good for them too. It’s a little confidence boost, I think. It’s a chance for them to start fresh, from scratch, be whoever they want to be on that particular week.
There is a third category, of course — the families that can’t afford extra-curricular summer activities. If camps are summer survival strategies for stressed-out parents, it’s only for the lucky ones who pay for them.
Because while I mess about spreadsheets and snack bags and sanity, the truth is these so-called luxuries are increasingly out of reach. Camps buy time and space. They let us work, rest, and even — don’t tell them I said this, I’ll deny it — miss our kids a tinchy bit.
But they come at a cost, an expense not everyone is in a position to be able to budget for. Should the price of summer survival be this high?
