Camp HOTYU

I don’t know if you heard it, or maybe you were sleeping in or whatever, but this very morning, the heavens parted and angels broke forth into singing. No, they weren’t heralding the discovery of a cure for COVID-19 or the return of reliable Amazon Prime two-day shipping. They were rejoicing because today is the first day of Grandma and Papa Camp, which means that my parents have taken all of my children, along with some cousins, up to a campground in Idaho, where they will remain for the next five days.

This amazing event began about eight years ago, when my parents heard of a similar camp that their friends were doing, and decided that they too would like to try their hand at putting a bunch of grandkids to bed outside at 11 at night after they’ve been hyped up on s’mores and ghost stories. The first camp was such a success, they decided to do it again, and then again and again, much to the delight of Logan and I, as this is typically the most peaceful and productive week of our year.

“Camp HOTYU” is what it has come to be called; “HOTYU” is an acronym for “Hold On To Your Underwear,” which is what my mom says any time things are about to get wild. And at Camp HOTYU, things get wild. Each day is filled with fun activities like crafts, swimming, scavenger hunts, hiking, movies, fishing, campfires, games, and bike riding. Honestly, I’m getting winded just typing it all out, so I can’t imagine how my parents actually keep up with it for a week. 

Now that some of the grandkids are older, they have been given assignments to help, which in theory will take some of the burden off of Grandma and Papa’s shoulders, and will help them feel the desire to keep taking their grandkids camping for years to come. I happened to catch a glimpse of the daily schedule that my mom printed out for this year’s camp, and it is truly an organizational masterpiece.

For example, the two youngest cousins are assigned a different “buddy” each day of camp. This buddy will do all the fun things for the little kids that are normally reserved for grown-ups, like cutting pancakes into uniform quarter-inch pieces, cleaning up soda that has spilled all over a plate of hot dogs, and unknotting laces on hiking boots that were worn into the lake for some unknown reason. 

But the organization doesn’t stop there. There will be daily camp inspections by Papa, and a rotating meal-prep crew is assigned for breakfast, lunch and dinner, with a crack team of clean-up experts following close-behind. 

And the food! My mom doesn’t mess around when it comes to feeding hungry camping children. There are the usual suspects (spaghetti, hot dogs, pancakes), but also something on the schedule listed simply as “Donut Extravaganza,” which I can only imagine involves copious amounts of hot oil and stress. And I had to laugh when I saw the menu for breakfast on Saturday, which will happen mere hours before everyone breaks camp and returns home: “Breakfast—cereal, hot cocoa, marshmallows, chips, pretzels, licorice, jelly beans, etc.” At least my mom is a realist.

All of my kids love Camp HOTYU, for obvious reasons (see previous paragraphs). “It’s the best part of summer,” 13-year-old Jane gushed last week. “It’s really more like glamping than anything.”

Ha! I’ve been on the business end of a camping trip, and I know that for the adults in charge, there is nothing “glamorous” about it. My parents put in months of work to prepare for this one glorious week where they and their grandkids come together to connect and make memories. I won’t be privy to all my kids’ stories and tales of adventure until I come to pick them up Saturday afternoon, but I know they’re going to have the time of their lives. And Grandma and Papa, well—I’m pretty sure I owe them a night out.