Summer Survival Kit, Part 3: Your Game Plan for Outings
[Read: Summer Survival, Part 1: It might be sensory]
[Read: Summer Survival, Part 2: Defying the Rules of Summer Parenting]
Ah, summer family outings. Matching beach outfits at golden hour, cousins giggling over friendship bracelets at the reunion, everyone smiling at the zoo in shorts that still fit.
And then reality. Your four-year-old is screaming on the floor of the Reptile Room. The teenager is feral. You just spent $100 on amusement park tickets and left 20 minutes in because it "smelled weird."
No more. 2025 is the summer of realistic adventures for our real kids, planned around their actual needs, not someone else’s idea of what it should look like.
We are not going on family bonding hikes. It’s a million degrees and my kid only wears plastic knock-off Birkenstocks. We are not planning stock photo beach days or picturing all of us screaming in joy on the rollercoaster. We are piling into the car with Pop-Tarts as soon as they wake up, before the sun is strong enough to need sunscreen, jumping in the lake for 20 minutes, and coming home while it’s still fun.
We are redefining success. Not as perfection or other people’s Instagram feeds. Just fun, safety, and connection. Small wins, realistic expectations, and memories that don’t require emotional triage afterward.
Here are some ideas for making that happen:
Anticipate the Sticky Bits
What’s likely to be hard for your child? Think the outing through from their point of view. What will they see, hear, feel, be expected to do, or tolerate? At a baseball game: they have to walk in a crowd, stay near you, sit very close to lots of strangers, endure stadium noise and heat, and handle disappointment over not getting ALL the treats and not being allowed to ride the merry-go-round so many times the ice cream makes a re-appearance. They might not catch a ball, but their brother might, and he doesn’t have to give it to them.
What will help? If they fall apart when hungry, don’t just bring snacks, bring redundant snacks. If noise is the enemy, pack headphones, find a quiet space, plan breaks. If they hate crowds, get creative: headphones, piggyback rides, umbrellas-as-barriers, turning the crowd into a video game where you're dodging NPCs. If you know they’ll get bored, bring 4 fun toys (preferably ones they don’t see every day) and dole one out every 30 minutes. Bring an audiobook, a hand-held fan, whatever it takes.
Know the landmines, and design the detours.
If the odds of success are low, can you leave early? Recruit an older cousin to take them somewhere better? Create their own side adventure? Build a wedding tablecloth fort under the table with Legos and snacks?
You’re not jinxing the day by preparing for what might go wrong. You’re giving your kids (and yourself) a better chance to enjoy it.
Prepare your child
“We’re going to a baseball game!” doesn’t help them know what to expect.
Paint them a picture. Tell them:
Where they’ll sit
What they’ll eat (and not eat)
How long it’ll last
What they’ll be expected to do or tolerate
What the limits are
Use visuals: Street View. Camp websites. Photos. Being able to visualize the outing can help with anxiety.
Use play to practice: Pretend outings with stuffed animals. Social stories describing the steps of the adventure and what the child will do on each. Hold the Waiting in Line Olympics at home. You have time for maybe one of these, I know, so do what you can.
Let them make choices: What to wear, what to pack, which snack goes in first. Feeling a little in control goes a long way
Help them have a plan for if things get hard.
Who can they talk to?
What will they say?
Where can they go for a break?
What “secret word” can they use to signal they’re starting to unravel?
"Aunt Jessie’s house might be loud and crowded. If you need a break, just say 'beanbag' and we’ll head to her office with the comfy chair."
If you can get them to help make the plan, all the better.
Equip the grownups
Camp counselors, babysitters, and theme park employees might never have met your kid. Some of them were born in 2010.
You can’t assume they’ll know what your child needs. But they can still help, if you equip them:
Describe your child’s need with empathy: "Sarah has sensory issues. Heat can feel like actual pain."
Tell them what to look for: "She might seem cranky or defiant when really she’s overheating."
Tell what what to do about it: "She has a cooling towel and ice pack in her bag, and an invitation to the AC in the art room when she needs it."
Tell them what to say: “Tell her, ‘Looks like you’re feeling overwhelmed. Want to take a break in the art room?’”
Don’t expect 17-year-olds to wing it. Give them a one-page cheat sheet. Let them read off a handwritten card.
Ask for accommodations, without apology
Asking for help can stir up feelings. Maybe you’re embarrassed about standing out. Maybe you wonder if your child “deserves” accommodations or if they’re “disabled enough” to qualify. Maybe you worry they are.
But it shouldn’t be more embarrassing to ask for accommodations than it is to design a space that leaves out half the kids who might show up.
Accommodations aren’t special favors or charity. They’re re-shaping flawed spaces, so children feel included, comfortable, and successful.
You shouldn’t need a diagnosis or to reveal any personal or medical or mental health info to ask. You just need to need something.
You’re not trying to raise a kid who can handle fireworks and rollercoaster lines without help. You’re trying to raise a kid who knows what they need, that their needs matter, and that no matter those needs, they belong.
What to look for:
Skip-the-line passes or early entry at amusement parks, sports venues, and museums
Quiet rooms or sensory-friendly zones in big venues (theaters, sports arenas, some malls).
Special showings like sensory-friendly movies or neurodivergence-friendly events.
Quiet tables or early food service at restaurants to avoid hangry meltdowns.
Air-conditioned “cool down” spots at fairs or festivals.
Call or check the website before you go. Ask a staff member. If something isn’t working in the moment, speak up:
“We need to move to a quieter table.”
“Where can my child take a break?”
“We’d like to enter early to avoid the crowd.”
“What are options for your disabled clients?”
If the first person doesn’t know, you are not being That Mom™ if you gently escalate until you reach someone with decision-making authority. That person should have made sure their staff were set up for this already.
The 75% Rule
This comes from a very wise Huddle volunteer: If 75% of it works, it’s a raging success. Focus on the great things, and don’t let the negatives take over the memory.
Plan for 75% of what you think your child can handle. Plan short visits. Bring more support than you need. Leave while you’re still winning. Build in a celebratory exit.
"We came, we saw the monkeys and the tigers, we got ice cream" beats "We experienced the monkeys, the tigers, every other animal, the floor of the reptile house, and an epic meltdown over dippin’ dots."
On the way home, name what went right:
“You asked for a break when it got loud.” Use this to reinforce how great it is to ask for help in appropriate ways before they fall apart.
“You handled the line like a champ.” Because sometimes it’s hard AND they can get through it, which is also good to remember.
“What were the good parts/most fun parts?” So they aren’t focused on not getting those dippin’ dots.
They’ll remember what you highlight.
Re-envision the summer adventure
Some trips will be gorgeous. Some will be weird. Some will be 23 minutes long and end in a meltdown at the splash pad. And some will end with your child sprinting gleefully away from the family photo towards the street, chased by your Aunt Linda (thank you, Aunt Linda).
That doesn’t mean you did it wrong.
Success is showing up with a plan that fits your kid, creating space where they can be fully themselves, and finding the fun, safety, and connection inside the chaos.
Real summer isn’t a highlight reel. It’s sticky, funny, loud, and beautiful. Just like our kids.
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[Read: Summer Survival, Part 1: It might be sensory]
[Read: Summer Survival, Part 2: Defying the Rules of Summer Parenting]