I Think I Skipped Dimensions – The Day I Didn’t take My Son to Camp He Wasn’t Signed Up For

Today, I ruined my son’s day.

Not by yelling. Not by saying no to screen time. Not even by making broccoli again (although that’s definitely happened before). No, today’s offense?

I didn’t teleport him (or drive him) directly from school to summer camp.

Yes. You read that right.

Summer. Camp.

As in, Alasso Ranch, our church’s beloved oasis of zip lines, worship songs, s’mores, and sweaty tween memories.

Now, has my son ever attended summer camp at Alasso Ranch before? – NO

Has he ever been there outside of dropping off his sister or for the father-son overnight? – NO

Did I enroll him in any camp today, or this week, or this month? – Also no.

So… why did he look at me with deep betrayal when I pulled up in front of our house and not the ranch of his dreams?

I can only assume one of the following is true:

1. He’s operating in a parallel timeline where he absolutely was registered for summer camp and I’m the negligent dimension-jumping mom who forgot.

2. It’s April Fools’ Day… in May. And I’m the fool.

3. He has ADHD and just fully believed that if he thought about camp hard enough during school, it would manifest into reality?

4. I have ADHD and maybe I did sign him up and just forgot? Wait. No. I didn’t. Did I? Checks email. Refreshes memory. Feels 900% sure. Still second-guesses.

He sat in the backseat blinking at me like I’d just told him Christmas was canceled, then dramatically flung himself against the car seat like a Shakespearean prince banished from the throne.

I asked, “Wait… did you think you were going to camp today?”

And he replied with all the disdain of a kid whose parent just wrecked his entire vision board:

“Well… you could have taken me.”

Sir. Taken you where? To a camp you are not enrolled in? To a cabin you do not have a bunk in? With no bag? No toothbrush? No underwear??

Oh, the betrayal!

Anyway, if anyone else out there has an ADHD kid who has manifested their own alternate reality and then blamed you for not living in it with them—

Pull up a chair. You’re my people.

Tonight, I tucked him in while he muttered something about how next time, he would just “go to camp on his own.” (With what vehicle, sir? Your Spiderman scooter?)

I’ll leave you with this: parenting neurospicy kids is like being handed a map, a compass, and a goat… and being told to “find the treasure.”

Except the goat eats the map, the compass points to the pantry, and the treasure is apparently at Alasso Ranch on a random Tuesday.

– A Dazed & Confused, Slightly Dimensionally Displaced Mom