I took Tabitha to the YMCA, where we took my first ever Baby and Me kind of class, Story, Song, and Shimmy, with a tumult of toddlers. Whenever I spend a couple hours with her, I remember that life for a little one is just so ... ongoing! She doesn't chill for an hour with the New York Times, and she doesn't fix her own lunch yet (although she can totally reach into her bag now and find the food she wants and make me understand that she wants it.) Usually when we hang out together, I'm the one coming up with ideas of things to engage her and help her develop language and fine motor skills. We only spend a couple hours together a week, so it's not like it's hard to think up fun things to do -- but I know that it's way more non-stop for her parents.
I took her to the class because I thought it would be fun for both of us, and educational for her, but what I didn't count on was that I would learn as much as she would. It seems so simple and potentially obvious, but the class is geared as much toward breaking the isolation of parenting (or nannying) solo as it is toward entertaining and engaging the children. You could see it happen: the adults in the room start to look out for children who aren't theirs, the kids start to tentatively interact with each other, and teacher keeps a steady stream of activities going that the kids can engage with at the same time, but at their own level.
Tabitha was on the younger end of the age spectrum, so she stuck pretty close to me the whole time. We sang I know a boy who had a dog and Bingo is his name-o and Itsy Bitsy Spider and Old McDonald and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star (the American children's song canon hasn't changed much since I was Tabitha's age) -- all with hand movements to accompany the lyrics. She was totally into the songs -- not that she could do the hand movements without me moving her hands with her -- just transfixed. But when Chrissy the teacher pulled out the picture books and read them, Tabitha turned her interest to her peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
And then the parachute came out. I think the experience of being under the multi-colored parachute while it billowed up and down must have been a lot like riding the roller coaster is for older kids: a whirlwind of terror and delight. She clung to me, and she smiled. She clung to me, and she gazed with wonder. She clung to me, and she laughed. All the other kids were under the parachute alone, but Tabitha was like a little marsupial, cleaved to safety, eyes wide open. I later found out that it was her first time playing under a parachute. I fully expect her to be skydiving by the time she is 16.
None of this seems terribly connected to my mide this week: decisiveness, although I have found it incredibly helpful to embrace the direction that once I make a decision, act without hesitation. It has kept me at the computer for marathon stretches, and has helped me take breaks. It's helped me set limits, ask for help, get exercise, make tough phone calls, and even, just now, before I wrote this paragraph, take a nap instead of drink caffeine (which I stopped drinking a year ago because of ways it badly affects my body) even though I am slammed with work.
It's also helped me write this blog every day. Most days I have way more to do than I can accomplish, and yet I think it is a combination of decisiveness and public accountability that has kept me here every day. Same with making a new menore every night. Speaking of which, here's another whirlwind of terror and delight:
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