I spent a good chunk of my morning getting my daughters registered for summer camp, and it was quite the ordeal (not unlike, I’m guessing, applying for an elite Manhattan private school…only different).

After carefully making my selections (which involved countless hours of comparing and coordinating and negotiating), I hit submit on the online form and then proceeded to pray, chant, and cross my fingers in hopes that I registered in time for the girls to nab two of the coveted (and highly limited) spots. Fearing the above wouldn’t be enough, I also channeled my inner-Oprah and spent a good five minutes visualizing them attending said camps.

Once I released all my camp-angst to the universe, I then proceed to get supremely jealous of my children, as, if all goes well, they’ll be spending their summer weeks painting, doing ceramics, swimming, playing tennis, going to the theater, and taking cooking classes.

I want to go to summer camp.

Since that’s not exactly within the realm of possibility, I’m going to do the next best thing and sign up for a few camp-like classes of my own. A little “spring/summer of self-improvement” if you will.

I just registered for a terrarium making workshop at We Are 1976 on April 5th (in hopes of turning out some beauties like the ones above courtesy of Martha), and I have my sights set on calligraphy and photography classes as well.

Next thing you know I’ll be planning field trips. Watch out.