Brian Adams of Andover, Mass., is a UNH alumnus originally from Londonderry. He was previously a sketch comedy writing instructor and staff writer at ImprovBoston and a founding contributor to satirical online newspaper Recyculus. He is a father to three girls ages 6 and under.

I was working in my office at home a few weeks ago when I heard a frantic knock at my door. My mind reeled at the possibilities for such an apparent emergency. My wife Kim flung the door open before I could answer.

“I need you to call the Rec Department - now!” she said breathlessly, retreating to the next room to get back to her laptop without waiting for my reply.

I looked at my phone, which read 10:02 a.m.. Now it was all becoming clear to me. How could I have forgotten? Today was summer camp registration day. By the looks of it, things were not going smoothly.

If you have been lucky enough to avoid this annual fiasco, please allow me to explain. Summer camp registration occurs when there is often snow still on the ground. Parents all around town grab their phones and laptops, in some cases multiple devices, to sign their kids up for a variety of summer programs, vying for a very limited amount of spots.

It involves a level of planning akin to a general manager before the NFL Draft, prepared to think on your feet, should an unexpected situation arise. One must also act with the urgency of a Taylor Swift ticket release day, knowing that your dreams could be dashed with each moment that passes without taking action.

The stakes are high. If you don’t get your children into the weeks you need, you must figure out a “Plan B” for child care during the summer. Nobody, parent or child, wants it to get to that point.

I ran into the next room to join my wife.

“What’s going on?” I blurted, trying to get caught up to speed.

“I’m picking the weeks and putting them in my cart, but when I go to check out, they’re not showing up!” she shouted. “We’re going to get stuck with nothing!”

I called the Rec Department immediately.

In my head, I had a flashback to when I was a boy. After each school year was over and summer vacation was underway, my Mom would take my sister and me to the gymnasium at Matthew Thornton Elementary on the very day that camp was starting. At the entrance, she would present two twenty-dollar bills, one for each of us, to the high school student sitting at a folding table. We would then commence having the time of our lives for the next eight weeks.

Playing wiffle ball, basketball, and dodgeball was my absolute favorite way to spend the summer. I’m envious that my daughters have so many summer camp days ahead of them. All that has changed since my childhood is that registration is far more complex and it is quite literally one hundred times more expensive. Why? No idea. That’s a question for the Freakonomics guys.

The end of the hold music on the phone snapped me back to reality.

“Hi, we’re trying to sign up for summer camp and the system doesn’t seem to be working,” I said quickly.

“What’s the name?” she inquired.

“Well, I signed up last year, but it’s actually my wife trying to sign up right now,” I explained.

“Ok, is there a reason for the duplicate accounts?” the woman replied.

Oh, no. Our new administrative friend had lost focus. There was no time to get caught up in the minutiae of logins and passwords, we needed answers and she only had questions. Spots for camp were disappearing in front of our eyes.

“Only six spots left for Week 3!” my wife updated me. That might sound like a lot, but signups had now been open for a total of twelve minutes and most of the 40 spots were gone. It seemed as though we may be headed towards disaster.

“Are there any problems you’ve had with the website?” I asked, trying to move the process along.

“I think maybe log off and restart it?” The woman suggested. Ah, that old standby.

“I think it worked!” Kim said, as surprised as I was that the last-ditch suggestion had been a success.

The crisis had been averted. We reserved all of our weeks. No back-up plans were needed.

It’s a series of crises, this whole parenting thing. Some bigger than others. Mostly on the small side if you’re lucky. Putting out one fire is often just buying time until the next one presents itself to you, so it’s likely best that you prepare to be unprepared at any given time.

One must appreciate the little victories when they are achieved, though, and on this particular day, faced with a summer camp conundrum, we emerged victorious.