Thursday, July 21, 2011

Being THAT mom

No, I'm not that mom....but apparently my kid is that kid and she did it to a kid with that mom.  So Kaia and I are doing tots gymnastics this summer.  First, let me clear a few things up about tots gymnastics.  It is NOT the fast track to the US Olympic team, although I get the impression that the "big girls" who do handstands for the first 40 minutes we are there are probably in training.  It is NOT cartwheels, kips and Kasamatsus (I didn't make that last one up, that's actually a thing).  It is also NOT fun for Mommy.

See, in my head, everything Kaia and I do is fun because we do it together.  I really dig my kid.  She's funny.  In reality, though, lots of things we do also involve other people and I think a lot of other people suck.  I don't really have a sanctimommy routine, so bear with me as I sort out my judgment.  (I didn't make that up either, "sanctimommy" has graced the pages of both the New York and Washington Times!  Google it, I bet you know one.)

Some of the parents hover around their kids saying things like, "You gotta suck it up, honey, you're a big boy/girl," and "If you don't listen to teacher and follow the circuit, we'll go home," and "Why do I pay for this if you refuse to participate?"  Now, all these kids are 18-36 months, and while she's a pretty smart cookie, I suspect Kaia doesn't know what a "circuit" is, nor does she understand the concept of paying for something, but whatevs.  Perhaps some of the 36-monthers do.  My kid usually cooperates because she's glued to my side and I think it's fun to walk across the beam and hop hop hop across the numbered floor.  In their defense, it would be hard for some of the mothers to hop in their high heels and skirts (no joke) and the one nanny always seems pretty tired.  These mommies are not having fun.

Then there are the two boys.  The two sweet little 18 month boys who are both too young and far too rambunctious to really do what they're "supposed" to do.  The boys' mommies aren't having fun because they're never there.  In fact, both boys come with their dads, which I think is AWESOME!  Those poor dads always look terrified of the other moms and I think they should be.  So am I.

Finally, there are the kids.  See, this entry isn't all about judging moms.  I judge kids too.  There is, in particular, one kid, the kid, who continuously messes with the blocks.  The kids are given blocks to carry across the beam (to encourage them not to hold mommy or daddy's hand, I assume) and stack at the end.  This kid lurks at the end of the beam and knocks down the tower the other kids make or grabs the blocks out of their hands as they pick one to carry across.  I've never noticed her mom before (because she never attempts to stop her at the end of the beam).  Until Friday.

So last class, like at the end of every class, the kids are allowed to jump on the trampoline.  This time, though, they got to bounce down the tumble tramp.  It's a long, somewhat narrow trampoline used for mastering skills in a floor tumbling pass.  So, the little kids usually just run down it.  The big kids bounce down it with their feet together.  Kaia usually bounces down it on her butt.  I taught her that.  Nice, right?  It was a good idea when they were jumping on the regular trampoline and not expected to make forward progress.  Oh well.  Live and learn right?  Lesson:  No butt drops until you KNOW they're not going to be going on the tumble tramp during this session...

So Kaia is bouncing her little butt down the tramp and Block Girl comes tearing up behind her.  Kaia stands up and BOOM! knocks right into the little girl.  I say "boom," but for real, it was like she stood up and they bumped heads.  There was no skull cracking, no hysteria.  In fact, I think the other little girl was still standing and Kaia landed back on her butt, which was probably just fine as far as she was concerned.  Oh, but the hysteria came.

Block Girl goes nuts crying.  Block Mom says she's sorry and makes Block Girl say she's sorry.  I also apologize and a few seconds later Kaia said, "I'm sorry," to her and followed that up with, "It's okay, Mommy.  She'll be happy soon."  But she was not.  In fact, she was so tremendously upset over the incident that they left before class was over, which is a big deal because you get a stamp on your hand AND a coloring page.

Okay, so the 3 year old overreacted, what's my beef, right?  Block Mom must have said, at least three times to no one at all, "Oh, she's going to have a black eye now."  "Look at that.  It's going to be a black eye, I'm sure of it."  "Yep, that's definitely going to be a black eye."  Seriously, Block Mom?  No wonder your kid just went bonkers because she bumped her head.  You're lucky my kid didn't intentionally knock your kid down, like your kid knocks down the block tower, when your kid stole my kid's block at the end of the balance beam.  BOOM.

So, no, I'm not that mom.  I genuinely felt bad that they had a collision.  I made sure my kid said sorry too.  It wasn't anyone's fault.  Kids fall down sometimes.  Kids bump heads sometimes.  Shit, kids in gymnastics tear callouses, break bones and tear ligaments sometimes.  Unfortunately, my butt bouncing goofball managed to bump into a kid who has a crazy mom, that mom.

Sadly, we don't have class this week, so I don't get to gloat when the kid comes to class without that dreaded black eye.  Bummer.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

How many times can you say "Mommy" today?

Today I challenged Kaia to say "Mommy" 1000 times.  I'm pretty sure she met and exceeded that figure.  No, I am not a tiger mom attempting to give my child goals to achieve in preparation for the grueling future I have planned for her.  Instead, since she had already "mommied" me a few hundred times in the car that morning, I figured I'd find some positive spin.  Give the kid an achievable goal, right?

Jesus.  I swear to you she said "Mommy" a hundred times in 30 minutes.  "Mommy, look."  "Mommy, call Kaia."  "No, Mommy, no!"  "Mommy, what are you doing?"  "Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy...."  The latest is that I am not allowed to speak to anyone else in the car.  She says, "Mommy, no calling Poppy.  Call Kaia."  "Mommy, no calling Daddy.  Mommy wants to call Kaia."  I don't know how she decided that speaking in the car was considered "calling," but that's her thing.  I'm not allowed to call anyone but her.  She wants me to look at everything she's doing (and everything she puts in her mouth, incidentally).  She just likes to hear herself say "Mommy."

I'm pretty sure she drained the ever-living-mommy out of me today.  Thank goodness for grandparents, baseball and beer.  Hopefully I can find my mommy pants tomorrow morning because I think there'll be some "Mommy" in my future.