The Terrors of School Camp

‘You need to be at school for the camp at 6 o’clock.’ ‘The what ?’ ‘My school camp.’‘Oh hon you know I don’t do camping.’
Large pause – face starts to pucker like a shriveling tomato…
‘Okay, okay I’ll do the camp, although I’m sure I didn’t sign anything to say I would…’
The event
I don’t get there until the kids are getting ready for bed. It’s early yet and still time for a bit of fun – or so I think, until very nice teacher by day turns into big scary teacher by night. ‘Be quiet’ she roars (slightly ironic given the volume of her voice). You should be asleep. OMG its still daylight.
The parents stand around on one leg and then another. So what now? Wine? Beer? Scrabble? There is nothing for it but to retreat from the threat of mozzies and face a bed time I only usually dream about. And it would be a dream except (jaws theme music) I am surrounded by three eight year old boys. Aaaargh.
Can we tell ghost stories? “yea,’ says I far too enthusiastically for a mature adult. “Weeeeeell’ …..child one goes off on the longest, most tangential, unscary ghost story I have ever heard. Child Two has dropped off to sleep with boredom.
“Be quiet,’ booms scary teacher who has now transformed into Atilla the Hun. We all jump bolt upright including No2 who was asleep. “right’ says I ‘here’s my ghost story.’ ‘You can’t talk about blood,’ says one, “or ghosts’ says another ‘ or vampires. ‘ My creativity is stunted. Child one and two start to drop off to sleep.
‘What do we do now?” says child three (who happens to be mine). We could play with the torch. “Be quiet,’ roars Attila. Sighing, I use my number one method of trying to get to sleep – day dreaming in detail about the day I learn I have finally won lotto.
The night progresses.
‘Caaaaaas, I need to go to the toilet.” “Caaaaassss, I can’t find a torch.” “Caaaaaaaaaas, I can’t unzip the tent.””Caaaaaasss, my airbed has come down.” Casssss, can I get in with you.’‘ Absolutely not’ says I emulating Attilah the teacher. There IS a limit !
The night drifts on. In my dream world I have now won lotto and recklessly squandered the spoils.
A roar comes from outside the tent. Someone is playing the DVD of ‘Where the Wild things are.” “Or perhaps I’ve woken up in the Wellington Zoo. No, no, it’s the children in the next door tent. He,he,haw haw, giggle, chortle. Now that’s the kids on the other side. It’s in stereo. And its pitch dark. The time is 5am. It’s the middle of the night!
Where is Attila the teacher when I need her? Not a sign. Seems like it’s a hanging offence to talk after 8.45 but 5am is perfectly acceptable. I clamber out of the tent. ‘Be quiet - I’ve got sleeping children in here,’ I demand looking slightly ridiculous in my pink pyjamas. . “ha ha, chortle, chortle. ‘ I clamber back into my sleeping bag enraged. Child One has departed. I try to get to sleep but I am livid with the injustice of the situation. Why are early birds so righteous and night owls condemned?
Time to get dressed I hear one of the parents say. ‘It’s only 6.30!’ Child two and three sleep on.
I am furious and give in to the fact that I will no longer sleep. “I’m outa here,’ I say. I abandon ship. Go home and pull weeds out of the garden for an hour to release my fury and so as not to wake the rest of the family, finally shower and head to work for a strategic planning session with the board – a picnic in comparison with what I’ve just been through.
Next year their Dad gets the job.