I’ve always been a reactor, and a quick one at that. I rarely wait around for details. When something doesn’t feel right, I immediately go with that feeling and back out, pull away, decline. Whatever the situation calls for. Sometimes I’m graceful about it, others not so much. I don’t think this is necessarily a bad trait to have. Especially when you have children. I think we refer to it as “mother’s intuition.” Or we say we are “going with our gut on this one.”

My mother? She’d say I’m fickle. Or impetuous. And others? Have occasionally accused me of the same. Oh, and then there’s my father’s wife, who years ago referred to me as obstreperous. Nice thing to call a kid, right? But the few times my gut has been warning me about something? And I didn’t listen? Because I thought to myself, “nah, self… you are overreacting…?” Turns out I was right. I should’ve listened to my instincts. And then I get to beat myself up for a day about why didn’t I listen to my gut? Why didn’t I follow my instincts?

Well, I’m facing another one of those situations today. Pea started her new camp on Monday. It’s at a local place that’s very popular. All anyone ever wants to know is, “is your kid in a class there? A program there? Camp? Friday Night Out?” And so, like a good little automaton, oops, I mean mother, when I was looking for a little class for Coco, I checked them out. And since they are really the only game in town, I signed her up. Even though my initial experience there, registering, was not what I would call timely. Or organized. And I quickly dreaded going to the class. It feels disorganized to me. A lot of young kids working there, and while I’m not knocking young kids per se, I remember what it was like when I had a job as a kid. I was far more interested in the social aspects of it than anything else. And I get a similar feeling here. When you call the place? No one answers the phone. And when someone does answer the phone, which has happened to me once in the time I’ve been dealing with them? He knew nothing. About anything. Ever. Frustration. Especially because every time I’m there, which is now 10 times a week, there are a million employees milling around. How come no one is answering the phone? Perhaps they forget about boring desk duty?

But, the “camp” that they advertised sounded pretty good. Arts and crafts. Outside play time, I assumed, since they requested that I send Pea with a bottle of sunblock. That means you’re going outside, right? Except that this place is in a strip mall. Off the highway. So I was suspicious. But again, I read and reread the camp literature, and it said “we’re going outside!” Well, that’s what I inferred from it. Again, it’s the whole “send a sac lunch, tennis shoes and socks, a big bottle of water and sunblock.” 1) there have been no “arts and crafts.” There has been one picture, scribbled with black pen; and 2) there has been no outside time. At all. And I asked Pea what she does there, for four hours? And she told me that she builds with blocks. That’s it. And this is an articulate kid. She eagerly narrates everything she does in a day for us. Wants us to “see this” and “watch me” and “wow, did you get that, mommy?” She never stops talking. Until, exhausted, she piles into a heap in her bed at the end of the day.

Yesterday, I picked her up. And she came out the door of the little classroom. And she was walking like she just gotten off of a horse. And her jeans? Were soaked. Sopping wet. And that can only mean one thing. She had an accident. An accident? What the? Not this kid. Not in a very long time. She has the potty thing down. She told me on her first day that all she has to do is say, “Miss Teacher? I have to use the potty, please.” And so when she walked into the hallway, all bow-legged, I asked her what happened? And she told me she had to go. And she asked her teacher. And then… before she finished, one of the two teachers, who both told me they were actually nursery school teachers, came into the now over-crowded hallway, and announced that it “only happened about five minutes ago.” Excuse me? Five minutes ago, my child peed on herself, and you’ve just allowed her to hang out in her classroom, with her new friends and peers, with pee-soaked pants? Are you freaking kidding me? Five minutes might seem brief? But in wet bottoms? It’s an eternity! It’s forever! But I didn’t say that. I bit my tongue. Hard. And instead, I said, “she knows how to use the potty. This hasn’t happened in a very long time. What went wrong?” The teacher told me that Pea asked to use the potty, but by the time she got her in there, it was too late. Too late. Ahem. Could it be that it was “too late” because it took you an inordinately long amount of time to shuffle her out of the classroom and down the hallway into the bathroom because there are only two of you grown-ups in a classroom that is clearly overrun with small and active children who are bursting at the seams with raw energy because they don’t have any time in their four hours here to burn off some of that live wire energy outside? Huh? Could that be it?

Of course, I didn’t say that, either. And at this point, my tongue ached from biting down on it. I did tell the teacher that there is a change of clothing in Pea’s backpack, just in case something like this happens. And next time? Would she please indulge me and change my daughter’s wet pants and panties? Please? I would be so grateful. Wet panties and pants are very uncomfortable, I’m sure she could understand that? And then, I took my daughter to the ladies’ room to change her. And that walk? It felt like the Walk of Shame. As if all eyes were on us. Parents, kids, teachers, nannies. All of them, burning a hole right through us. And while I don’t know if that was actually the case, I was so sad. For my little girl. Who had to sit in a classroom, with her new friends, in pants that were soaked with urine. How awkward. Humiliating, even. And I don’t care that she’s only three. She is a person. With feelings! She’s a “big girl.” And that must’ve been hard. Shameful, perhaps. Just so wrong.

And so, months after being introduced to this place, I am throwing in the towel. This was the last straw. I spent all afternoon yesterday finding a new summer camp for Pea. And in the end? We settled on the one that I originally wanted to enroll her in. She is required to wear a pair of sturdy hiking boots. Not tennis shoes. Hiking boots! (From my beloved Keen, the most incredible outdoor shoe for an active kid, and look! On sale!) Because they will be exploring the mountains that we call home. On foot. And she will become an “Honorary Park Ranger.” And she needs to wear a hat (Garnet Hill makes the most adorable little bucket hat, Pea’s been wearing one since she was a baby, and it’s on sale, too! So cute on a little kid!). Every day. And she needs to bring a swimsuit (Baby Gap! On sale! UPF 40! Can’t beat that…) with her on Tuesdays, along with a towel. And I could go on and on. This is just like the summer camp, Kelly’s Camp, that I recall so fondly from my own childhood. It’s perfect. And she starts on Monday.

Going with my gut on this one. Have to do it. Something isn’t right. Maybe I expect too much. Perhaps I didn’t get all of the necessary information up front. But it’s too late now. That moment has passed. We are moving on. And it’s just another lesson learned. To always follow my instincts. Especially when it’s about my children. And when I mentioned this to my husband? Who is in Honolulu for the week and so missed this whole incident? He asked me why didn’t I tell him my feelings? And all I could think of to say was that I hoped I was wrong? That I wanted to be wrong? That it was just a case of having expectations that were too high? That I don’t know why I didn’t say anything? The place is so popular? So it had to be me, right? It just had to? After reminding me that it might just be so popular because it’s the only place like it in town, he told me not to sweat it. It’s just not the right place for our girls. No big deal. Okay? Okay. Case closed.

And so, I am just reminding myself that my intuition has always been spot on. And the only time it’s let me down is when I haven’t listened to it. I’ve ignored it for fear of not wanting to be the outsider. The one who doesn’t “get” it. Or “feel” it. Or “like” it. Or want to be deemed “different.” But the truth is, I’ve never been much of a follower. Always, always done my own thing. And that’s not going to stop now. And so, when So-and-So’s mother asks me why Pea isn’t at the camp any more? I’m going to say, gracefully, that it was a lovely place, but we found something that was simply a better fit for our girl. That’s it. And then, come Monday morning, Pea will be laced into her very first pair of hiking boots. Slathered in sunscreen. A hat on her head. And I can see her now, as I am picking her up at the end of the day, all pink cheeks and wind-swept hair and scraped knees. It’s like looking at myself as a child, on a warm and breezy summer day.

I’m so excited for her.