We attempted the “Little Gym” last Thursday. Well, more than attempted, I suppose. Finn is safer there than he is at home, in his zeal to climb, run, jump, and just generally scare the bajeezuz out of me, while maintaining a smile of ecstatic satisfaction. Upon letting the goblins loose, Finn promptly evicted another child from her mother’s lap, so he could sit there and have a story read to him. The little girl came to me with a look that could only say, “You! Fix this!”
After both boys were released from the confines of our Urban Assault Vehicle (UAV), they immediately went about their usual business of heading off in opposite directions. The “teachers” did a marvelous job, Finn had a blast doing what would be, if done at home, incredibly dangerous things; and Liam and I got to have a little quality time (he became unusually clingy) until the gigantic bucket o’ balls was released. That kid could spot a camouflaged ball through several feet of dense hedgerow.
The cost is rather alarming. So, being a cheapskate, I decided to try another gym out before signing up. I am sure that “My Gym” works for loads of parents. Heck, there were loads of mothers there…but they were a whole lot younger than me…and Prucilla is much more comfortable with the older set at the “Little Gym.” Yes, the older set has less of a tendency toward the Disney-esque inane characters all over the walls (complete with biographies and names, like Memo the Monkey, or something?) The big draw for “My Gym” seemed to be the “teachers”, who are all 20-something males. So, mothers can feel the cuteness of a father-like replacement that plays with the children while their real fathers are working, or otherwise MIA. I like the marketing scheme here…sneaky, tricky, dirty, and awesome. Lure stay-at-home mothers in with the promise of “adult” interaction while they play with their children, and then offer them a little fantasy to get them hooked, and keep them coming back.
The younger men, and the too large group of women and kids seemed to provoke an odd sense of jealousy and territorialism in the mothers, who, I estimate, were rather rude to begin with. There were obvious rivalries over who got to sit next to the instructors, and which ones. It was all very odd. Of course, they also have a store inside this one, which I also loath. I suppose someone wants to buy shirts with the stupid characters on them…where else do they appear but the walls and the brochure? Should I have expected the men to dress up as those stupid anthropomorphic animals? When the trial class was over, the “teachers” became the “used car salesmen” of the toddler world–exceedingly pushy, which pushed me and my pocketbook right out the door.
The children didn’t care about the men at all. In fact, Finn spent most of the time trying to escape the mandatory circle (a designated area marked by an honest to god red and purple circle, painted on the carpet) so he could get on with the climbing, etc. Liam enjoyed the huge mirror, and spent most of the time talking to and laughing at himself… Did he think he was another kid, or was he really just enjoying talking to himself? I don’t think the other kids paid much attention to him, and he was really trying to get their attention. It is way too much structure for me and my crew (who have discovered that the guest room/my office is quite an amusement park).
So, after all of this, Finn has decided that he can fly. He believes, and gets angry at me when his beliefs are proved false, that all of the surfaces in our home are cushioned. Was it the classes, or is it just him? I am painfully aware that this is a very suburban, normal thing to do–to take one’s children to playgroups–but it feels very awkward. It is a feeling that I am going beyond my comfort zone, and rushing for a sorority, or signing up to live in a Stepford community…
Rushing to lunch,
Pru
