The Summer Camp Chronicles: Confessions of a 70/30 Parent

Summer’s here—and with it, the heat, the noise, the laughter… and the emotional rollercoaster that is summer camp season. It’s one of those classic childhood milestones: part magical adventure, part tiny panic attack. But let’s be real—most of the emotional drama? It’s happening on our side of the drop-off line.

On paper, camp sounds like a dream: sunshine, crafts, campfires, growing up a little. But in reality? It’s a masterclass in trust and letting go. For me, it’s this wild mix of excitement and heartache. That little sting when you wave goodbye. The silence in the car afterward. That fleeting, irrational urge to turn around and double-check that they packed enough socks. (Or water bottles. Or bug spray. Again.)

And still—we send them. We let go. Because our love is just that big.

I’ve accepted that I’m about 70% helicopter, 30% lighthouse. That’s just who I am. I hover. I overthink. I Google. I run mental checklists like my brain is mission control. But there’s also that quieter part of me—the lighthouse part—that knows they need room to stumble, explore, and discover who they are without my running commentary.

Letting Gemma and Jules head off for even a few hours feels like letting bits of my heart wander off in someone else’s backpack. It’s hard. It’s tender. It’s a version of love that makes you brave enough to do the hard thing—even when it scares you.

Every parenting decision feels like it comes with a secret soundtrack whispering: Am I doing this right? Will this help them grow? Will they come home a little more confident, a little more sure of themselves? Or will they feel overwhelmed, unsure, a little lost?

The honest answer? I don’t know. None of us really do.

But what I do know is that I want my girls to grow up joyful. To feel safe enough to try, strong enough to fail, and curious enough to chase who they’re becoming. And if summer camp—with all its bug bites, muddy shoes, and gooey s’more grins—is part of that growth?

Then I’ll take a deep breath, step back, and let it be.

So here I am—watching from the sidelines, heart in hand, cheering them on. One pickup line meltdown at a time.

Because this is parenthood. A perfectly imperfect mix of love, trust, and learning to let go—even when your heart’s still holding on.

Love, Gemma and Jules’s mom