Those are statements you won't hear coming out of my mouth any time soon. More like DIF--"Darn, it's Friday." That's because Friday is the day of the brain-numbing doubleheader. No, I don't mean consecutive baseball games. Rather, I mean back-to-back boys' activities at two different locations.
First let me say that The Winter of Charlie is going better than expected. Following an autumn during which Christopher's activities dominated, I decided that I needed to focus on my younger son for a while. The tagging-along-and-waiting-around-and-being-stuck-in-another-city scene while Chris played football, participated in Cub Scouts, and performed in a holiday show did a number on Charlie's behavior and my patience. To reverse the damage, I vowed to swap the activity load of both boys.
Charlie now does gymnastics twice a week--at a YMCA and gymnastics academy--and plays basketball once a week. He completed a series of four group ski lessons on consecutive Saturdays last month and has recently started group skating lessons on Wednesday afternoons. Four sports clinics per week for the past month-plus. It sounds like a heavy schedule--and would be for most other five-year-old boys as well as eight-year-old Christopher--but it feels just right for the boisterous baby of the family. I'm pleased as pie that he is exerting his boundless physical energy in a constructive manner instead of taking it out aggressively on his brother.
Christopher, meanwhile, is enrolled in just one weekly basketball clinic and one jazz/hip hop dance class. He seems satisfied with his schedule, if a bit winded toward the end of hoop games. He could stand to get more exercise this season, but I can't--and won't--add any more clinics to the plan.
The problem--and, believe me, there would have been many more if I'd had snowstorms to contend with!--is the Friday lineup. After a long week, I pick the boys up at school to drive them to a gymnastics academy in a nearby town. Charlie took a class there all last year. I liked the intimate setting, made friends with several of the other mothers, and viewed my fatherless son's male teacher as a potential role model for him. But this season, the experience has been flipped on its head--appropriate for a gymnastics class, I suppose. The place is now jam-packed with parents, students, and noisy younger siblings. So long, intimate setting! Hello, crowded and confined space! Seriously, the dimensions of each of the two waiting areas are roughly 12 x 5 feet including the space taken up by the folding metal chairs. Even minus the younger kids, the place can be really loud when kids upstairs run then jump on a springboard into a foam pit. The ceiling thuds make me worry that the building is going to cave in. Last year my mother friends and I talked throughout the entire forty-five-minute class. I never even opened the magazines I brought with me. But this year--not having made any new friends yet--I attempt to read or check e-mail or Facebook on my new iPad. Argh. I can't get an Internet connection in the cave-like second-floor space. Several of the mothers I do happen to know from our elementary school. However, they don't stick around for class, opting instead to run errands or pass the time at Starbucks. And the positive male role model? He is not teaching Charlie this year. Considering that I am already worn out from the week, the now hour-long Friday afternoon session feels like a marathon.
It would seem like a half hour between Charlie's gymnastics class and Christopher's jazz/hip hop dance class should be enough time. But it is not when you factor in the snack rush--obtaining a bag of fruit snacks and/or cheddar cheese goldfish and/or a bottle of water--as well as the time it takes for my rambunctious child to put on his sweaty socks, old sneakers, and well-worn coat. The Y is less than ten minutes away, yet we arrive with only five to spare. Well-behaved Christopher, who declines the offer of childish snacks, wants a more sophisticated treat from the tantalizing display at the second facility. He chooses a blueberry scone and promptly inhales it.
Charlie and I tried waiting outside the room that doubles as a dance studio, peeking through the window to watch class from time to time. But two weeks in a row my eyes burned something fierce while reading in this space. The lighting, I concluded, was poor. So we moved to the seating area near the cafe at the front of the Y. Grand Central Station, basically. There Charlie and I fell into our old song and dance routine of killing time while he emptied my wallet on snacks. Today's total: $12, and that was getting off easy as neither boy chose a food or drink at the gymnastics academy. Me? Having missed lunch, I succumbed to a chicken salad wrap and bag of mixed nuts to satisfy my salt craving. Class finally ended, and we could ditch this joint. Praise the Lord! Or was I stuck in a scene in Groundhog Day as it took one . . . more . . . entire . . . half . . . hour to get home due to the packing up of uneaten snacks and the putting back on of socks, shoes, and jackets?
Put me out of my misery, please! Gone three and a half hours, and I feel like I've been waterboarded.
D-I-F, indeed!
Go Christopher... the jazz/hip hop class! Is that at the Sterling Y? And is Christopher, by any chance, the only boy? My son loves hip hop, and he enthusiastically signed up for a class (not at the Y), only to bag it when he was mortified by being the only boy! So I've been futilely looking for an all-boy or co-ed class.
ReplyDeleteYes, Sterling Y. There is one other boy in the class ad about five girls.
ReplyDeleteHe likes the class. They are putting on a show in June. You could sign your son up now, I would think. It's a female teacher. I was hoping for a cool young male teacher. Oh, well. I'm not sure if he will stay in the class after June. I guess we'll decide after we see the show.
ReplyDelete