We signed up for our first activity. We’re officially in the game.
Gymnastics. Wednesdays at 5:15PM.
Caroline always packs her gymnastics bag the night before: pink and purple leotard (with a confusing pattern that I can’t tell is supposed to be ugly or is cool because it’s intentionally ugly), water bottle, crocs, snack bin that’s complete with meat stick, dried strawberries, crackers and a Made Good granola bar.
Every Wednesday, Clayton picks up the girls and brings them to my office where Caroline changes into her leotard, and I re-groom her top knot bun. No loose hair gymnastics in this family. Clayton takes Kate home and Caroline and I drive across town to the gym.
When we arrive, we maneuver through a crowd of kids and parents to the check-in desk. Caroline’s little hands flip through the black box of index cards that are organized in alphabetical order. She runs her hands across the first three letters until she gets to ‘D’ and pulls out her card indicating that she’s part of the preschool gymnastics session.
She holds tight to the card, slips off her crocs and eagerly waits by the door frame that separates the gym from the waiting area. The teacher calls their 5:15 PM start time and a handful of preschool aged kids pass her their blue cards and follow every word she says.
After she goes through that doorway into the gym, I have one hour. Actually, fifty-five minutes.
Fifty five minutes to do whatever I want. I can walk, get a smoothie, read, do work… I tell myself I’ll pick one thing and do it, but every week I end up sitting in a plastic chair behind the big glass window that overlooks the gym, too overwhelmed with options to do anything productive.
Four rows of folding plastic chairs are lined up in front of the window, where parents can watch each session. Through the glass, ten-year-olds flip off beams, eight-year-olds throw themselves between two vaulted bars, and a handful of parents shake their sillies out with toddlers in the parent-tot class. It’s structured chaos.
On one Wednesday I opened my book, tried to focus, but instead found myself eavesdropping and documenting everything in my Notes app.
There’s the mom on a conference call with one AirPod in, over-directing her daughter:
“Do your best! Oh, take your shoes off! Is your ponytail tight? Have fun! Be a good listener. Listen to your teacher. I’m serious.”
Behind me, a mom negotiated with her toddler in a high-inflection voice:
“Please keep your hands to yourself. It sounds like you disagree with what I’m saying. Would you like to ask me for consent? No? Okay, you just lost your privilege.”
And a dad, exasperated:
“Maron, why aren’t you listening to me? We made an agreement. Do you remember?”
When class ends, Caroline runs over to show me the backs of her hands, stamped with black ink from the “Good Job” stamp every kid gets, regardless of how they actually did.
“Mommy, Ms. Ava told me there’s a showcase! We have sign-up online and we get an award after!”
I nodded, distracted by trying to leave. But at home, she’s still went on:
“Can I go to the showcase? Kate can watch! I want a ribbon!”
I logged into the portal. There it was: Summer Session Showcase. Next to it, a bright “Register” button. Fee: $40.
I began my quiet rant to Clayton as the bathwater runs.
We already pay for weekly classes, and now a $40 fee for a participation medal? Is this how it starts? Are we officially activity parents now? Are we going to spend the next 15 years debating sign-ups and snack duty and whether to cut a weekend trip short so our four-year-old can wave to us from a folding chair with a medal around her neck?
Caroline was in the tub, still talking about the ribbon.
We explained that we’d be out of town that weekend. That there would be other showcases. That sometimes we miss things.
The disappointment slowly slid across Caroline’s face.
For a second I thought, Do we change our plans? Try to make it work? Am I really thinking about this?!
I poured the bathwater over Caroline’s hair, my mind still wandering: we signed up for one activity. One Wednesday. Is this the game we’re in now?
Our first activity was also gymnastics, also wednesday evenings, for 45 minutes. It sounds like the same class. Structured chaos, glass window, stamps, ribbon ceremonies… but my kids cried every time they went in. If you were sitting next to me when you took your notes, I can only imagine the quote you would have captured.
Loved this post, although I sent it to my mom and I'd have to imagine it hit much harder with her, as I was a gymnast from age 5 until I graduated college.
It's a fantastic sport, though one that does come with it's unique downsides — that a $40 registration fee is the absolute tippy-top of the iceberg: endless leotards (mandatory), competition fees, private lessons, choreography classes, private club tuition, coaches travel expenses and a slew of other things I wasn’t privy to as a kid await at the competitive level. Similar to ice hockey or swimming, it would’ve been much easier/cheaper to choose a public-school sponsored sport where you don’t have to pay for gym/rink/pool time. My parents always laughed that my college scholarship meant they just about broke even.
Still, she’s young enough to reap the benefits at a reasonable price/time commitment for now (at the risk of falling in love with the sport as I did!) Gymnastics is great for developing motor skills, body awareness and confidence that helps with so many other things in sports, and life. And hopefully you can continue savoring those precious 45 minutes to yourself each week 🙂