YMCA Fieldtrip 7th Circle of Hell

It occured to me this morning that I beleive have fully recovered from the PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome for those of you without your DSM IV handy) I suffered from the 6th Grade YMCA overnight trip.  To the right is my possy of tards posing in front the the YMCA statue.  I call them tards, because that's what they acted like for the 48 hours I chaperoned their little butts.

Don't be fooled by the precious picture you see of Drew and I atop the mountain looking down into the Morae Valley.  While beautiful, I am pretty sure it was 20 below (okay not 20 below, but damn close to 20 degrees) and we had just hiked up to said spot with our guide, Helen, the mountain goat. 

Helen is to the right, with our group.  This was pre- hike up the mountain when she still held out a glimmer of hope that the kids would not test her patience at every turn.  Helen is about 800 years old and "knows these woods" like the back of her hand.  With such precious knowledge, she dared impart her wisdom and superior hiking skills to a group of about 20 questionably retarded 6th graders and their overly tired chaperones (this was day 2 of said trip). 

Helen, the mountain goat, lost all patience by the time we reached the summit of the trail, that she just sort of stared at the kids in utter disgust and stopped speaking the whole way back down the trail.  Poor Helen. 

The whole debacle of me even going on this trip started with my husband, Jon, signing up, attending the meeting, then realizing there was no way his employees could handle themselves without him physically being present at the office.  This is another story all together titled "workaholic". Because of Jon's issues, he signed me up at the meeting and announced I would be going on the trip to bond with Drew.

Now, granted, I have been on every single field trip with Drew from pre pre school to present.  But, said field trips never lasted overnight, and there were never raging hormones and snotty teenagers involved.  I digress.  As I write these words my hands are shaking and there is a good possibility I might end up curled into the fetal position sucking my thumb before I end the tale ... YMCA: 7th Circle of Hell

The day of the trip parent chaperones were told they could drive their own vehicles to the YMCA camp.  The drive is beautiful up the canyon into the Rocky Mountain forest entrance.  I was grateful I didn't have to ride on the bus (hate bus rides), and decided to carpool with a fellow mother that had a son on Drew's football team.  A much as I like this mother, I wasn't aware of her love of music.  Her love of said music was only enhanced by the loud roaring "hot shit" system she had installed in her cruising wagon, complete with a bopping "sweet ass" bass (sp? fish or base). All this being said, I rode to the YMCA camp, over an hour's drive, feeling like I was in a night club yelling over the music as my friend told me how "sweet ass" her stereo system was and how she "pumped it up" when the boys were in the car and how much they liked it.  As much as I love this friend, she is a total sweetheart, I didn't love the music (sorry lady!). 

Upon arrival at the YMCA camp I realized it was cold there.  Not cold like New England cold biting through your skin, but Rocky Mountain cold with a gusty wind that rivaled New England cold minus humidity factor.  The buses arrived soon after our arrival, and we were told which dorm was which, boys and girls, opposite dorms, and assigned our chaperone groups.  The kids arrived, mass chaos ensued getting their crap off of the busses, and somehow in all of that we managed to get the boys into their dorm, and the girls into their dorms.  The dorms boasted 2 bunkbeds, and a trailer like bathroom.  I was fortunate enough to bunk with three other mothers, AND got the top bunk.  Lucky me.  I was about 6 inches from the ceiling, and I am pretty sure prisoners in southermost work camp federal prisons get better mattresses.

We went straight from the dorms to the main building.  It was there we bonded with what would be our groups for the next two days.  To the right, my group.  Stop laughing.  I learned their names pretty fast, because I had to say them repeatedly about a million times over the next 48 hours.

The groups were divided into what the USAF would refer to as "flights".  Groups of groups, forming a little larger groups.  Each "flight" was assigned different taskings so that over the next 48 hours each group would experience all that the YMCA, and employees had to offer.  Gratefully, our first flight activity was indoors. 

Ungratefully, our second was outdoors.  So cold, bitter cold.  It was at this time I realized my group was drawn like moths to a flame to pick up everything off the ground (sticks, rocks, whatever they found first) like a bunch of ADHD kids that lacked medication intervention.  When they were not acting ADHD, whipping sticks at each other, or rocks, or trying to get into the water, they were refusing to wear their hats, coats, gloves, etc.  I suppose that the ladies of the group of 6th graders thought coats would not show off their clothes, and the boys were being tough.  Regardless, I spent the next two days repeating the following phrase, "put down the stick ... put down the rocks ... stop hitting each other ... put your coat on ... put your hat on ... get your gloves on ... if you get pneumonia I don't want to hear you whining!"

After our second activity of the day, the kids were allowed to go to their dorms to prepare for "dinner".  They were TOLD that they needed to grab everything they would later need to attend the bonfire.  They were to take all of their crap (coats, hats, flashlights, gloves, etc) with them to dinner.  The kids liked their dorms, so much that I had to smoke them out of their room.  Okay, I didn't have to smoke them out, but I am pretty sure the smell of cheap aftershave wafting from the boys dorm did the trick.  I suppose the boys, hormones racing, thought a little cheap cologne might get them some bonfire action.  Gross.  The girls dorm was no better.  Gross.

We had all of our meals at the "cafeteria".  For woodsy delight meals meant to feed hundreds, it was actual okay.  BUT, it was a buffet and my germaphobic anxieties went into massive over drive as I saw the grimy little monsters with their nasty little dirty hands touching all of the food.  Use the tongs/spoons/shovels provided for God's sake!  The level of sound in the cafeteria was deafening.  Pre-pubescent teens covered in cheap cologne/perfume trying to act "groovy" as my mother would say. 

There was a post dinner activity planned for each "flight" after dinner, and pre bonfire.  As the kids sat their eating, being groovy, and chatting away, a teacher stood up and started speaking quietly in an attempt to get their attention.  It was painfully obvious that she was being ignored and her tone got a little louder ... louder still ... louder ... then a sort of shrieking desperation took over her person as she screamed, "boys and girls, do you all want to go to bed at 8 o'clock tonight?!"  I looked at her, in disbelief, thinking, "oh hell, the inmates have taken over the asylum."  The kids pretty much ignored her threat/question then out of the crowd I hear, "SHUT UP!!!!!".  It was my friend with the "sweet ass" radio system in her car.  She proceeded to chew ass and tell the kids what ungrateful fools they were, and turned the time back to the teacher.  It sort of worked.

Our pre-bonfire activity was the swimming pool.  I was not swimming, as were NOT any of the other chaperones.  The kids in our flight were ALL swimming.  The only thing I can say positive about the experience, is that it was WARM in the indoor pool sitting poolside,  Warmth, I had been craving it all day.  I watched the dance of the pre-pubescents ensue and took note of their behaviors.  The boys were acting like 11-12 year old boys.  They wanted to "roughhouse" in the pool, dunk one another, and try to play some ball with the hoop on the side of the pool.  The girls, however, were sitting about waist high in the pool trying to not wet their hair and "trolling" as it were, for the boys to notice them.  I was amazed that some of their parents had purchased their interesting choices of swim apparel.  I think there is more fabric in a washcloth than some of those bathing suits.

When the swim time was almost over, I volunteered to go BACK to the dorms before the boys got there. Of course, they and everyone else had not taken everything they needed with them to dinner for the bonfire later.  I started out on the trail from the pool to the dorms, (not a huge walk ... as long as you don't get lost).  It was pitch dark, and I had a little flashlight.  Out of the darkness I heard my phone ring.  Holy crap, I could get texts!  I stopped myself immediately and texted my friend, who is a professional counselor.  "Help me, I am trapped in the 7th circle of hell ... and I think I am lost, and it's cold."  She told me to hang in there, via text, followed by a LOL LOL LOL!.  This was SOOO not a LOL! moment!

I was officially lost and a 10 minute walk turned into a 30 minute attempt to find the dorms praying I would not die lost in the woods.  I made it to the dorms ... gathered my group of wet headed, refusing to wear their coats and hats crew, and we were off to the bonfire.  Bonfire.  Imagine about 400 kids, give or take, surrounding an ampitheater style bonfire, and YMCA camp employees (early 20's, granola eating tree loving unshaven (girls too) nature lovers) trying to "entertain" the group.  This group?  Unentertainable.  Is that even a word?  It was the case.  My friend and I sat there thinking, "are you kidding me?"  The teacer who shouted the threat/question of an 8 o'clock bedtime tried to again assert her weapon of an early bedtime, to no avail.  Other teachers tried the same.  I was trapped in cheap cologne/perfume and boys that smelled like wet dogs from their pool wet hair experience. 

The poor camp counselors were trying to get the kids to sing campfire songs, and/or participate in their campfire entertainment venue. The kids sort of took to it, but not really. A few were escorted from the bonfire for irrational and disturbing behavior.  It was pitch black, despite the bonfire, and I just wanted it to end... at this point, my life.  In desperation I discovered a tool that shut some of the little monsters up.  I overheard an "F" bomb (and for my Utah friends/family, it was NOT "freak") and I turned on my flashlight and lit it in the kids direction.  Like a deer caught in the headlights, he was mesmerized and at the same time, paralyzed with fear.  My friend and I burst into hysterics.  For the next hour we spent our time randomly turning on the flashlight directly onto kids to see the paralyzed, mesmerized, deer in the headlights reaction.  Good times.

Upon our return to the dorms, I safely tucked in each of my group into their beds.  I told them to go to bed, and bid them farewell.  They were no longer my duty, I headed to the girls dorm.  Upon my arrival to the girls dorm, I hunkered down for a long winter's nap on my prison bunk.  On the first floor of the dorms there was a coffee/tea station.  The 11-12 year old girls, in an attempt to be "cool" all started to help themselves to a late night cup'o'joe.  The mom's in my room, and myself, rolled our eyes, but then realized to our horror, that cup'o'joe shock to most of their systems would keep them up ... all night.

Without a moment's notice, or a chance for me to get on my prison bunk, we had a knock at the door.  Oh, what luck!  Little did I know that one of the three mom's I was bunking with was no less than the 6th grade "queen bees" mother.  Shit. If you don't know what a "queen bee" is, think "mean girls".  A queen bees duty is to squirrel up the hive.  She utilizes her powers with precision passive aggressive behaviors.  It was this behavior that led queen bee and her prey to our door.  A girl fight ensued, complete with hair pulling, and the queen bees mother lamenting the rest of the evening that her daughter was singled out.  Well, hell lady. She's the queen bee! I was so tired at this point, I fell asleep to the lamenting mother's cries of her little queen bee's innocence.

The next morning the day pretty much wrapped up the same as day one.  I repeated over and over for my group to stop picking up sticks, rocks, whipping one another, etc.  Their first activity of the day with their "flight" was a course where they had to cooperate.  I must say, it was pretty hilarious watching these kids try and make the course challenges cooperating.  I texted my friend a few more times that day, and she responded with LOL LOL LOL ... not LOL!  I held onto the glimmer of hope that this was the LAST day, and I would be home in my cozy bed that evening.  Late in the day, mere moments before we finished our last activity of the day, survival (how fitting), it started to snow ... and it was not a little snow, it was Rocky Mountain high snow, fast, furious, and sticking.  We were somehwere in the middle of the woods with the kids making stick forts for survival.  I questioned whether we should head back down the mountain asap, and was greeted with a survival response, "nah, we're good."  Hell.

We finally made it back down the mountain, the dorms were in few, and I'm pretty sure I was in a hysterical dead sprint.  Alas, the busses, 2 freaking hours late because of snow!  This landed all of us, with our stuff, in the main lodge.  My special, special boys?  Well they took it upon themselves to spend their time on the lodge phone.  The phone mysteriously rang suddenly, and I answered it while the boys look bewildered.  "Um, hello, maa'm.  This is the Rocky Mountain Emergency services.  We've received numerous calls in the last few minutes from this phone and wanted to make sure this wasn't a hoax and/or of we are needed?"  What the freaking hell?  This was the last straw, FOR SURE.  I informed the man that I was a chaperone of four boys that were medicated and had missed their dosage that day, and fervently apologized.  His repsonse, "well, if you could keep them off this line, that would be appreciated."  I just stared at them ... all four of them ... in disgust.  I shook my head, I'm pretty sure cussed under my breath, and prayed the bus would step on the gas. 

My group was one of the last to get on bus #4.  Of course.  I got back into my friend's car, with the "sweet ass" jamming radio system, and we headed home to the jamming bass and my head pounding.  The ride, because of the snow, was twice as long, but I didn't care.  I was going HOME!  Drew and I finally got home, and I told Drew that I loved him dearly, but never, ever, ever again would I go on an overnighter with his grade.  Exhausted, I fell into my nice warm down comforter and went fast asleep.