I'm sure you're all familiar with Zumba, the Latin dance-based exercise phenomenon that has been sweeping the nation for like 5 years now. Apparently some trends are slow to come to suburban Chicago, though, so the Zumba craze is just starting to heat up at my gym.
Case in point: There are now two Zumba classes offered at the gym, and there is now a specific Zumba-only instructor teaching one of them.
But two years ago, Zumba was kind of like a pilot program at the gym. As such, they held Zumba classes Friday nights in October, to try to gauge the interest level of the gymgoers where Zumba was concerned.
So, Carolyn and I went to the test Zumba classes back in October of 2009. I wanted to love Zumba. I'd heard words like awesome and fun bandied about in relation to Zumba, and I'd hoped it would be one of those exercise classes where it's like you don't even know you're exercising.
But I just couldn't get into Zumba. It seemed to require a sort of rhythmic movement of your midsection that I was just not capable of. I have absolutely zero sense of rhythm, and I hate to dance. The only way I can get over my self-consciousness while dancing is to drink a lot of alcohol, and I decided at my last dancing-based excursion (Sparklecorn at BlogHer) that I'm just not willing to drink that much anymore.
And, of course, I don't really make it a practice to drink before going to the gym.
So I just decided that Zumba wasn't for me. I added it to my list of Things Other People Love That I Don't Like, which is a list that, as I've said before, includes the movie Goonies and hazelnut coffee.
I therefore resigned myself to a Zumba-free workout regimen. And blah, blah, blah, time marched on, and yadda, yadda, yadda I did some other stuff.
And then last week I got to talking about Zumba with my friends Jessie and Claudine, who have been going to Zumba for awhile now. Somehow I ended up agreeing to try Zumba again. I figured, new season, new workout endeavors and all that. And isn't there something about building new synapses in your brain every time you try something new?
Unfortunately, the day after I agreed to retry Zumba, the new workout schedule came out at the gym. Zumba was still there, but a different instructor was taking over. And that instructor was Darlene. Darlene is one of those loud, sassy workout instructors who some people love and some people hate.
I have to admit to falling into the latter camp, and here's why:
A couple of years ago, I took a weight-lifting class with Darlene. The woman was constantly singling me out in front of the class to criticize my form. I kept my sense of humor about it, because after all I was new to the class. That was until Darlene asked me to stand up in front of the class, face everybody else, and practice my squatting technique so that my booty--possibly Darlene's favorite word in the English language--rubbed up against the mirror while I squatted. I felt like I was dry-humping a wall.
So, I mostly avoided Dry-Hump Darlene's classes from there on out. I feel the need to point out that the woman is mostly a nice person, always saying hello to me, and even complimenting me recently on my weight loss. And my friends swore she was a good Zumba instructor. And since I do try to keep my word, I went to Zumba this morning as promised.
I am reluctant to admit this, but I really liked it. Darlene's a little too spirited and loud-mouthed for a weight-lifting class, but Zumba kind of fits her. Her strength over the other Zumba instructor was that she really kept the class moving, and at a faster speed you don't have time to feel bad that you missed a move because you're already on to the next one.
I was also pleasantly surprised to see that the Zumba class was a lot larger than it was two years ago, so I could easily hide in the back of the class. (I know nobody's looking at you in a fitness class anyway, but it's nice to have the reassurance that you're being obscured by the crowd.)
Another advantage that a Friday-morning class has over a Friday-night class is that most of the participants are retired people and stay-at-home moms (or work-at-home moms or PT work-outside-the-home moms or whatever), and they don't make me feel as bad about my poor salsa-dancing skills like the professional Zumba artists who came to party at the gym Friday nights (presumably before hitting the clubs).
So, hooray for new experiences. I can feel those new synapses forming now.
Oh, and by the way, it was not so fun that I forgot I was exercising. I'm convinced that nothing is that fun.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Sigh
I don't even really want to talk about it.
My four-year-old had a two-year-old-style tantrum today in McDonald's.
The morning had started off so well. After a good night's sleep and a walk through the morning routines as per the schedule, Babysitter Danielle came and watched Nathan. His little friend Owen came over because Owen's mom had a conference call. Everyone played nicely. They went to the park until I got back. Then the plan was for Owen and his mom to join us at McDonald's.
And somehow the low blood-sugar or the general transitions of the week added up to a complete meltdown when I told Nathan he had to eat two chicken nuggets before playing on the playground. This is always the policy at McDonald's. I have very few policies in life, but I do have eat two nuggets before you play.
Somehow ... OMG ... TWO CHICKEN NUGGETS was like the worst punishment possible!
You're the worst mom! I hate you!
Now, the thing that's so hard with Nathan is that punishments tend to escalate his misbehavior. So while I did punish him by putting him a time-out, he still yelled I hate you! loudly during the time-out, and when I added more time for that verbal offense, he just got madder and madder.
Complicating things, we had gotten a ride with our friends, so I couldn't just grab my screaming child and leave. My very kind friend who drove us did offer to take us home, but I was feeling so terrible for depriving her child of the playground, churubic as he was sitting there eating his meal without complaint.
I whisked yelling Nathan out of the playground area and into the main part of the restaurant. A stupid but well- meaning stranger offered to watch him for me while I left. Umm, yeah, thanks, but even in my advanced state of anger I was not going to let a stranger watch him. But she just wouldn't let it go. "No, really, you go. I'll take him. I love children," she said.
"No, thank you, that's okay," I grunted while trying to restrain my child.
At that point I had no choice but to take my friend up on her offer to take us home. In anger, Nathan threw his Happy Meal toy in the trash, then proceeded to launch into a full-blown wail about how his toy was in the trash.
Most irrational child ever.
Worst mother ever.
Because this has to be my fault. I don't see any other four-year-olds acting like that. I was so thoroughly embarrassed. I feel like such a failure.
My four-year-old had a two-year-old-style tantrum today in McDonald's.
The morning had started off so well. After a good night's sleep and a walk through the morning routines as per the schedule, Babysitter Danielle came and watched Nathan. His little friend Owen came over because Owen's mom had a conference call. Everyone played nicely. They went to the park until I got back. Then the plan was for Owen and his mom to join us at McDonald's.
And somehow the low blood-sugar or the general transitions of the week added up to a complete meltdown when I told Nathan he had to eat two chicken nuggets before playing on the playground. This is always the policy at McDonald's. I have very few policies in life, but I do have eat two nuggets before you play.
Somehow ... OMG ... TWO CHICKEN NUGGETS was like the worst punishment possible!
You're the worst mom! I hate you!
Now, the thing that's so hard with Nathan is that punishments tend to escalate his misbehavior. So while I did punish him by putting him a time-out, he still yelled I hate you! loudly during the time-out, and when I added more time for that verbal offense, he just got madder and madder.
Complicating things, we had gotten a ride with our friends, so I couldn't just grab my screaming child and leave. My very kind friend who drove us did offer to take us home, but I was feeling so terrible for depriving her child of the playground, churubic as he was sitting there eating his meal without complaint.
I whisked yelling Nathan out of the playground area and into the main part of the restaurant. A stupid but well- meaning stranger offered to watch him for me while I left. Umm, yeah, thanks, but even in my advanced state of anger I was not going to let a stranger watch him. But she just wouldn't let it go. "No, really, you go. I'll take him. I love children," she said.
"No, thank you, that's okay," I grunted while trying to restrain my child.
At that point I had no choice but to take my friend up on her offer to take us home. In anger, Nathan threw his Happy Meal toy in the trash, then proceeded to launch into a full-blown wail about how his toy was in the trash.
Most irrational child ever.
Worst mother ever.
Because this has to be my fault. I don't see any other four-year-olds acting like that. I was so thoroughly embarrassed. I feel like such a failure.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
And So It Begins
This is the giant new schedule board I created for Nathan over the weekend. I'm pretty sure if there were an award for the Occasionally Better Than Average Mother, this would be the project I'd enter into the competition.
Of course, I'd lose some points in the competition for all the TV icons I have on there. And I'm sure the winner's board would be laminated, and all the pieces would be stuck on straight.
But it's not about the aesthetics of the board, of course. It's about what the board represents. We're on a schedule, people! Fall is here and order has been restored!
It is time to turn a metaphorical page in our lives. As if right on cue, the weather made a perfect transition to autumnal, with temps in the low 60s and beautiful clear skies. It's time for jeans and closed-toed shoes again:
And because I believe in clean breaks and obvious transitions, I got myself a new fall purse. The old purse in the summery shade of lavender wouldn't do. It was time for a navy blue messenger bag:
But obviously he was just masking his trepidation about his new environment. Like a lot of men, he channeled his fear into anger.
He was a little bit nervous and clingy when we got to school:
It took a bit of prodding to get him to snap out of his stupor and hang up his backpack:
The classic mixed-feelings face. He gets that from me:
But I don't have mixed feelings right now. I'm filled with pure excitement and optimism as I look forward to the new season. It's always nice to start again.
Oh, and, as I predicted, Nathan had a great time and got a good report from school. Which was a totally welcome change from last year's first-day report, which was that he refused to sit down and do his work.
Today, however, he came home with three pieces of classwork: an apple dot-to-dot that went from 1 to 15, a school bus he colored, and a construction paper schoolhouse that demonstrated those stellar scissor skills we worked on over the summer.
Bring it on, fall. We are ready.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Thoughts on Labor, or Lack Thereof
Let me start by noting that here I am talking about labor defined as to work, not labor of the baby-having kind. Which is why I'm writing this post on Labor Day.
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Moms are always talking about work/life balance. We search for that elusive work arrangement that will be darn-near perfect: the job that allows a mother to stay connected in her field and contribute to the household income, but that isn't so all-consuming that she misses her children's childhoods. And work/life balance isn't just about balance of time, it's about mental balance as well: How do you find a job where your mind is equal-parts consumed with important, professional issues and with raising a family?
Just reading that paragraph, one comes to the conclusion that the perfect work/life situation is so idealistic that it must be fictional, a non-existent dream that we can aspire to, but never achieve. One has to all but accept that there is no perfect solution when it comes to work/life balance, just better solutions. And yet still we chase that perfect solution.
Let me stop for a minute and note that all this work/life balance stuff is what the Internets like to call a "first-world problem." Or, really, it's not even a problem that everybody in the first world has the luxury of having, because there are certainly plenty of mothers right here in America for whom the issue of whether or not to work is, really, a non-issue. It's not about work/life balance, it's about having enough money to survive.
But here in my privileged corner of the world, we talk about work/life balance a lot. And even closer to home -- well, my home -- this summer has brought a whole new experiment in work/life balance as I've begun to dip my toe into the world of freelance work.
And let me say, I think freelancing is an excellent arrangement for me right now. It was really great to dust off the part of my mind devoted to professional issues, which remained dormant for quite some time. It was good for me -- not always easy, but good for me -- to have to juggle personal and professional responsibilities. I really began to cultivate a "no time like the present" attitude toward all responsibilities, which helped me to stay on top of things. Case in point: I have never been so caught up on the laundry in my life. And I liked how working from home meant Nathan got more time at home to just putter around and learn to entertain himself.
Now, of course, no work arrangement is without its drawbacks. As my more seasoned freelancer friend Sarah and I discussed recently, it seems that with even the best work arrangement, things work smoothly about 80% of the time, and then 20% of the time you're scrambling. While 80/20 is obviously a relatively favorable ratio, it is that stressful 20% that stands out in your mind and has the most potential to drive you crazy.
But, as I said, there are no perfect situations, just better situations. And I believe this summer I discovered that it's better for me to at least be doing some amount of professional work.
I think Leigh Ann perfectly summed up my feelings yesterday. Leigh Ann was discussing her return to work after a year of stay-at-home motherhood. She talked about all the important, life-sustaining roles she filled as a stay-at-home mom, and about her additional endeavors like blogging and writing a book. And all those things are great, she said, BUT:
But, there is just something about an outside person you aren't related to by blood or by marriage saying, We want to pay you to perform a task. We'd like to invest some of our organization's precious capital in you, because we believe you can be helpful and useful to us. And maybe the work you're doing at your paying job is just as trivial as the everyday minutiae you face at home, and maybe it's even more trivial, but in the end you are compensated with money, which is an important and measurable commodity.
And sure, your family is always going to be more important than any job. Motherhood is priceless, which is why most mothers don't want a job that would keep them away from their children all the time. But motherhood is also often thankless and presents few opportunities for evaluation. If all you have to worry about all the time is whether or not you're being a good mother, you will go crazy. For example, when it occurred to me that I was viewing Nathan's preschool parent-teacher conference as my own personal job evaluation, I knew it was time to look for some outside professional opportunities.
Thankfully, an opportunity presented itself shortly thereafter, and I spent the summer enjoying the challenges of balancing my new work/life endeavors. Just when I think I got fairly competent with this balance, I finished the project I was working on. And now I'm desperately craving more work.
I do have some irons in the fire, but it's just in my personality to worry until I have a legally-binding contract. Again, my family does have the luxury of not needing my next paycheck in order to survive, so this whole thing is really just about my mental health. It's better for me to work. And it's better to have a steady stream of work so that I don't have to go back and forth between crazy hectic and idly bored.
I know I have to have faith that something else will come along. But I'm not good at having faith. I want to have a contract.
And that's the state of my own personal labor this Labor Day.
------------------------------------------------------
Moms are always talking about work/life balance. We search for that elusive work arrangement that will be darn-near perfect: the job that allows a mother to stay connected in her field and contribute to the household income, but that isn't so all-consuming that she misses her children's childhoods. And work/life balance isn't just about balance of time, it's about mental balance as well: How do you find a job where your mind is equal-parts consumed with important, professional issues and with raising a family?
Just reading that paragraph, one comes to the conclusion that the perfect work/life situation is so idealistic that it must be fictional, a non-existent dream that we can aspire to, but never achieve. One has to all but accept that there is no perfect solution when it comes to work/life balance, just better solutions. And yet still we chase that perfect solution.
Let me stop for a minute and note that all this work/life balance stuff is what the Internets like to call a "first-world problem." Or, really, it's not even a problem that everybody in the first world has the luxury of having, because there are certainly plenty of mothers right here in America for whom the issue of whether or not to work is, really, a non-issue. It's not about work/life balance, it's about having enough money to survive.
But here in my privileged corner of the world, we talk about work/life balance a lot. And even closer to home -- well, my home -- this summer has brought a whole new experiment in work/life balance as I've begun to dip my toe into the world of freelance work.
And let me say, I think freelancing is an excellent arrangement for me right now. It was really great to dust off the part of my mind devoted to professional issues, which remained dormant for quite some time. It was good for me -- not always easy, but good for me -- to have to juggle personal and professional responsibilities. I really began to cultivate a "no time like the present" attitude toward all responsibilities, which helped me to stay on top of things. Case in point: I have never been so caught up on the laundry in my life. And I liked how working from home meant Nathan got more time at home to just putter around and learn to entertain himself.
Now, of course, no work arrangement is without its drawbacks. As my more seasoned freelancer friend Sarah and I discussed recently, it seems that with even the best work arrangement, things work smoothly about 80% of the time, and then 20% of the time you're scrambling. While 80/20 is obviously a relatively favorable ratio, it is that stressful 20% that stands out in your mind and has the most potential to drive you crazy.
But, as I said, there are no perfect situations, just better situations. And I believe this summer I discovered that it's better for me to at least be doing some amount of professional work.
I think Leigh Ann perfectly summed up my feelings yesterday. Leigh Ann was discussing her return to work after a year of stay-at-home motherhood. She talked about all the important, life-sustaining roles she filled as a stay-at-home mom, and about her additional endeavors like blogging and writing a book. And all those things are great, she said, BUT:
"It's irrational, this need to work, in the world. To feel indispensable. To feel like I'm filling a role most other people couldn't fill."And, honestly, that is exactly how I feel. Sure, I play an important role as a stay-at-home mom and a wife, cat owner, human, etc., although of course my inner critic has to jump in and say that I'm not that important because I only have one kid. But, I mean, I do some useful stuff. For example, I serve as the magical go-between from dirty clothing on the floor to clean clothing hanging in closets. I'm the one who knows where Walgreen's is when there's some kind of emergency toilet paper situation. I cook, clean, and serve as the family's social director. And on the side I write this little blog, which, while not financially lucrative, has netted some payoff in terms of free samples. So, in some ways, I manage to make myself useful.
But, there is just something about an outside person you aren't related to by blood or by marriage saying, We want to pay you to perform a task. We'd like to invest some of our organization's precious capital in you, because we believe you can be helpful and useful to us. And maybe the work you're doing at your paying job is just as trivial as the everyday minutiae you face at home, and maybe it's even more trivial, but in the end you are compensated with money, which is an important and measurable commodity.
And sure, your family is always going to be more important than any job. Motherhood is priceless, which is why most mothers don't want a job that would keep them away from their children all the time. But motherhood is also often thankless and presents few opportunities for evaluation. If all you have to worry about all the time is whether or not you're being a good mother, you will go crazy. For example, when it occurred to me that I was viewing Nathan's preschool parent-teacher conference as my own personal job evaluation, I knew it was time to look for some outside professional opportunities.
Thankfully, an opportunity presented itself shortly thereafter, and I spent the summer enjoying the challenges of balancing my new work/life endeavors. Just when I think I got fairly competent with this balance, I finished the project I was working on. And now I'm desperately craving more work.
I do have some irons in the fire, but it's just in my personality to worry until I have a legally-binding contract. Again, my family does have the luxury of not needing my next paycheck in order to survive, so this whole thing is really just about my mental health. It's better for me to work. And it's better to have a steady stream of work so that I don't have to go back and forth between crazy hectic and idly bored.
I know I have to have faith that something else will come along. But I'm not good at having faith. I want to have a contract.
And that's the state of my own personal labor this Labor Day.
WINNER! Michael Angelo's Frozen Italian Foods!
Random.org picked:
Comment #2 was left by Lisa Noel, which is kind of appropriate because she was with me at BlogHer and expressed how much she liked the Michael Angelo's lasagna.
Also, her blog is super cute and very well-written!
Congratulations, Lisa, and thanks to all who entered!
Comment #2 was left by Lisa Noel, which is kind of appropriate because she was with me at BlogHer and expressed how much she liked the Michael Angelo's lasagna.
Also, her blog is super cute and very well-written!
Congratulations, Lisa, and thanks to all who entered!
Sunday, September 4, 2011
SuperIma Sunday Check-In: Rude Awakening
This morning we were all woken up at 6:30 when the cat knocked over a pile of library books, got spooked, and tore across Bill's face. She managed to barely miss his eye, but he still spent the day in a state of man-woundedness, which is to say, whining.
The rest of the day proceeded more or less as the past week did. I was exhausted but relatively content.
Nonetheless, it truly felt like a week that I just wanted to get over with. It was the last of a series of weeks where there was no structure and no outside care for Nathan (camps are over and preschool hasn't started), and honestly the summer just ended up feeling like it was one week too long. There was hour after endless hour of What are we supposed to do now? Seriously, I felt like even with the gym, and the park, and the playdates, and the whatever, I still ended up parking my kid in front of the TV an awful lot of hours. (On the flip side, I did finally join the dark side and start doing phonics workbooks with him.)
Still, some good things did happen this past week. I finished my freelance project and sent in my form to get paid. I worked out a total of 6 times, including 3 cardio/weight circuits with Trainer Jill, one elliptical workout, one outdoor bike ride, and one trip to the pool. (Somehow I've managed to ignore my first exercise love all summer, and now the water feels like jello.) So far I've worked out all four days in September, and I'm well on my way to achieving my workout counts as outlined in my post "September of Self-Improvement." Plus I've been a faithful Weight Watcher almost every day this week, the exception being yesterday when I ate movie popcorn and had to count it toward my count of "no more than 4 Weight Watchers cheat days."
BTW I saw The Help, which was my other goal for the week. I LOVED it. Loved the book, loved the movie. Super fun soundtrack, too.
As for the upcoming week, I hope it's not a rude awakening as well. It's our first week of the new arrangement: Nathan's preschool T/Th, babysitter M/W, and the first soccer practice/game. I've been really excited about the return to order, and I've been slowly honing our schedule in the past few weeks to (hopefully) help ensure a smooth transition.
I'm really looking forward to a full 12 hours of time where Nathan is cared for by others. (And that's not even including his time at the gym daycare, which returns to its full evening/weekend schedule this week, too.) It's just so much less stressful to run little errands by myself. Of course, I really need to buckle down and get to work on my murder mystery play for the park district.
So ... my goals for this week are:
The rest of the day proceeded more or less as the past week did. I was exhausted but relatively content.
Nonetheless, it truly felt like a week that I just wanted to get over with. It was the last of a series of weeks where there was no structure and no outside care for Nathan (camps are over and preschool hasn't started), and honestly the summer just ended up feeling like it was one week too long. There was hour after endless hour of What are we supposed to do now? Seriously, I felt like even with the gym, and the park, and the playdates, and the whatever, I still ended up parking my kid in front of the TV an awful lot of hours. (On the flip side, I did finally join the dark side and start doing phonics workbooks with him.)
Still, some good things did happen this past week. I finished my freelance project and sent in my form to get paid. I worked out a total of 6 times, including 3 cardio/weight circuits with Trainer Jill, one elliptical workout, one outdoor bike ride, and one trip to the pool. (Somehow I've managed to ignore my first exercise love all summer, and now the water feels like jello.) So far I've worked out all four days in September, and I'm well on my way to achieving my workout counts as outlined in my post "September of Self-Improvement." Plus I've been a faithful Weight Watcher almost every day this week, the exception being yesterday when I ate movie popcorn and had to count it toward my count of "no more than 4 Weight Watchers cheat days."
BTW I saw The Help, which was my other goal for the week. I LOVED it. Loved the book, loved the movie. Super fun soundtrack, too.
As for the upcoming week, I hope it's not a rude awakening as well. It's our first week of the new arrangement: Nathan's preschool T/Th, babysitter M/W, and the first soccer practice/game. I've been really excited about the return to order, and I've been slowly honing our schedule in the past few weeks to (hopefully) help ensure a smooth transition.
I'm really looking forward to a full 12 hours of time where Nathan is cared for by others. (And that's not even including his time at the gym daycare, which returns to its full evening/weekend schedule this week, too.) It's just so much less stressful to run little errands by myself. Of course, I really need to buckle down and get to work on my murder mystery play for the park district.
So ... my goals for this week are:
- Get 10 pages of script done. (Scripts have pretty wide margins, people.)
- Finish my book for the library book club I have recently joined.
- Survive.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
The Splash Pad
The town where we live has an awesome splash pad. Some places call them splash parks or spraygrounds, but you know what I'm talking about, right? A big old area with foam flooring, containing various spraying apparati under which children run around with reckless abandon and pure, unadulterated joy?
Well, some children do.
Thus far in his childhood career, my kid has wanted nothing to do with the Splash Pad. Which is a big fat shame because the place seems altogether awesome to me.
Let me run down the Splash Pad's selling features:
The fact that the Splash Pad season is so limited, so fleeting, and so anticipated during the drudgerous months of winter just serves to make me want to take advantage of the place at every possible opportunity.
So, naturally, Nathan hates the place. It began the summer after he turned 1, when there were really few other recreational facilities that were appropriate for him. At the Splash Pad, I reasoned, he couldn't get into too much danger running around on a flat, padded surface, and since he was so little he was still in that stage where every bit of minor excitement was like a thrill ride to him.
That first summer he was mobile, he made it clear that he was absolutely terrified of the Splash Pad. He was also terrified of showers, so it made sense that he wasn't so much into anything that was going to spray water down on him.
Then the pointless efforts to get him to like the Splash Pad continued the summer he was two, and then the summer he was three. We tried the peer pressure angle: Maybe if he sees his friends having fun in the Splash Pad, he'll want to go in, too. No go. The Splash Pad is next to a park, and all Nathan wanted to do was play in the park. Even when we went to a Splash Pad birthday party, Nathan was the only kid who wanted to play in the park.
I resigned myself to the idea that I would be the only mom standing over in the playground while all the other moms clustered in the Splash Pad. We did have some minor victories, where he'd skirt the perimeter of the Splash Pad and catch an errant spray.
AND THEN ... at the beginning of this summer he finally got up the courage to go full-steam into the sprays and get soaking wet. I figured maybe he just needed time to appreciate the Splash Pad.
But his Splash Pad interest was short-lived, because the next several times we went to the Splash Pad, Nathan wanted nothing to do with it. Which, honestly, is totally fine. Who cares if he doesn't want to go in a stupid Splash Pad? It's not like Run through a splash pad is a state academic standard. At least not in Illinois, it isn't.
But ... I guess I just get worked up when I see this opportunity that is so fleeting, so simple, so purely joyful ... and then my kid doesn't want to do it. I admit that this would be an occasion where I've fallen into the parental psychological cliche of wanting to live vicariously through my kid. What I wouldn't give to run through sprinklers on a hot day in my bathing suit without a shred of self-consciousness.
Oh, and hey, Child, did you see my bulleted list of the Splash Pad's selling features above? What is not to love?
Plus it seems that every. other. child. on. the. planet. loves the Splash Pad. And then, as with all occasions where my kid seems to be the only kid who doesn't like something, the worried mother in me surfaces (not that she was buried too deep anyway) and I wonder, Is there something wrong with him? Is there something wrong with me?
Why I don't give up on the whole Splash Pad is beyond me. The fact that I won't let this go is really ridiculous. But I guess because we're frequently getting invited to playdates at the Splash Pad, I can't just go and pretend the whole place doesn't exist.
So ... yesterday was ridiculously hot for September. Like, almost 100 degrees. Because school has started, the pool is now on reduced hours, which meant the only option for cooling off and still running around outdoors was the Splash Pad. I told Nathan's friend Louie's mom I would pick him up and take them both to the Splash Pad.
Nathan refused to put on his bathing suit. They played in the park, and it was so hot I felt like it was cruel to even have them out there. Eventually I coerced Louie into going in the water. Nathan stood outside the Splash Pad's fence and declared that he hated this park, and asked if we could never go there again.
Eventually he asked if he could put on his bathing suit. But then after he got changed, he just stood there. And then finally, finally, he played with the squirt gun:
And then he got wet!
I'm not certain he's sold on Splash Pads for good now. And, quite frankly, I'm kind of glad it's Labor Day and we don't have to worry about it anymore. I fully acknowledge that my fretting over a stupid Splash Pad may, in fact, be the most pointless worry I have had thus far in my parental career, and that means it is at the top of a very long list.
Well, some children do.
Thus far in his childhood career, my kid has wanted nothing to do with the Splash Pad. Which is a big fat shame because the place seems altogether awesome to me.
Let me run down the Splash Pad's selling features:
- It is free.
- It is close to our house.
- It appeals to a wide range of ages.
- It wears children out.
- It is open earlier in the day than the pool is.
- Unlike the pool, it does not require parents to go through the hassle of changing into/changing out of/exposing the world to their bathing suits.
- A parent can mostly just sit on the sidelines in the shade and read or talk to other parents.
The fact that the Splash Pad season is so limited, so fleeting, and so anticipated during the drudgerous months of winter just serves to make me want to take advantage of the place at every possible opportunity.
So, naturally, Nathan hates the place. It began the summer after he turned 1, when there were really few other recreational facilities that were appropriate for him. At the Splash Pad, I reasoned, he couldn't get into too much danger running around on a flat, padded surface, and since he was so little he was still in that stage where every bit of minor excitement was like a thrill ride to him.
That first summer he was mobile, he made it clear that he was absolutely terrified of the Splash Pad. He was also terrified of showers, so it made sense that he wasn't so much into anything that was going to spray water down on him.
Then the pointless efforts to get him to like the Splash Pad continued the summer he was two, and then the summer he was three. We tried the peer pressure angle: Maybe if he sees his friends having fun in the Splash Pad, he'll want to go in, too. No go. The Splash Pad is next to a park, and all Nathan wanted to do was play in the park. Even when we went to a Splash Pad birthday party, Nathan was the only kid who wanted to play in the park.
I resigned myself to the idea that I would be the only mom standing over in the playground while all the other moms clustered in the Splash Pad. We did have some minor victories, where he'd skirt the perimeter of the Splash Pad and catch an errant spray.
AND THEN ... at the beginning of this summer he finally got up the courage to go full-steam into the sprays and get soaking wet. I figured maybe he just needed time to appreciate the Splash Pad.
But his Splash Pad interest was short-lived, because the next several times we went to the Splash Pad, Nathan wanted nothing to do with it. Which, honestly, is totally fine. Who cares if he doesn't want to go in a stupid Splash Pad? It's not like Run through a splash pad is a state academic standard. At least not in Illinois, it isn't.
But ... I guess I just get worked up when I see this opportunity that is so fleeting, so simple, so purely joyful ... and then my kid doesn't want to do it. I admit that this would be an occasion where I've fallen into the parental psychological cliche of wanting to live vicariously through my kid. What I wouldn't give to run through sprinklers on a hot day in my bathing suit without a shred of self-consciousness.
Oh, and hey, Child, did you see my bulleted list of the Splash Pad's selling features above? What is not to love?
Plus it seems that every. other. child. on. the. planet. loves the Splash Pad. And then, as with all occasions where my kid seems to be the only kid who doesn't like something, the worried mother in me surfaces (not that she was buried too deep anyway) and I wonder, Is there something wrong with him? Is there something wrong with me?
Why I don't give up on the whole Splash Pad is beyond me. The fact that I won't let this go is really ridiculous. But I guess because we're frequently getting invited to playdates at the Splash Pad, I can't just go and pretend the whole place doesn't exist.
So ... yesterday was ridiculously hot for September. Like, almost 100 degrees. Because school has started, the pool is now on reduced hours, which meant the only option for cooling off and still running around outdoors was the Splash Pad. I told Nathan's friend Louie's mom I would pick him up and take them both to the Splash Pad.
Nathan refused to put on his bathing suit. They played in the park, and it was so hot I felt like it was cruel to even have them out there. Eventually I coerced Louie into going in the water. Nathan stood outside the Splash Pad's fence and declared that he hated this park, and asked if we could never go there again.
Eventually he asked if he could put on his bathing suit. But then after he got changed, he just stood there. And then finally, finally, he played with the squirt gun:
And then he got wet!
I'm not certain he's sold on Splash Pads for good now. And, quite frankly, I'm kind of glad it's Labor Day and we don't have to worry about it anymore. I fully acknowledge that my fretting over a stupid Splash Pad may, in fact, be the most pointless worry I have had thus far in my parental career, and that means it is at the top of a very long list.
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