My daughter loves spending time doing classes at the gym. This has been something of a saving grace while I recover, but it’s also great for her: it gives her somewhere after school to burn off her energy – after spending the day doing things that may be mentally stimulating, but not so physically demanding. She does five days a week there, including the weekend, and more than one class a night on some days.
I used to feel guilty about exploiting the gym, until one of the instructors told me she should do more, because they all love having her in class. So now, I shrug and sign her up to anything she shows an interest in. As I write this I’m clockwatching to make sure that she makes it to today’s class on time. This will require wrangling her out of soft play, down to the changing rooms, into her gym stuff and back to the tennis courts.
I like her Wednesday night session the best, because the court they use is overlooked by the cafe. So I can sit and watch her, and see her interact with children who are not (necessarily) spicy.
Last Wednesday, I had a table by the windows to watch in that manner. A lady, who was obviously another parent, started hovering, and it became clear that she was doing the exact same thing that I was: wanting to watch her little one in his class. So, as I had the best table to spy, I offered her a place.
This, unfortunately, meant that she felt I was friendly and open to chatting, despite my Ipad open in front of me and a veritable wall of tech between us. She didn’t even seem perturbed that I was wearing headphones AND earplugs – from what I can tell as her lips kept moving. After five minutes of nodding, I sighed and gave her some of my attention.
From what I could gather, she was worried her child may have ADHD, and would not necessarily do what was asked of him in his tennis lesson. I nodded along, and told her how good the staff were here and not to worry. I explained about my own fae child, that she was in sports club, and that the staff coped admirably. She asked me which one was mine as the children were lining up for an activity.
I turn, look and sigh.
”The one with the rubber mat on her head.”
She laughs before looking, and sure enough, out of the group of thirty, 29 children are standing on their rubber mat that denote where to be. And my fae child has picked hers up and is wearing it as a hat. She smiles and waves at us, and then takes her ‘hat’ off and bites it. Apparently, the texture or taste is acceptable, because she spent the rest of the activity with it hanging from her mouth. When told by a member of staff to return it to the box, she barked before doing as asked.
She asked me what Chinese year we’re in this year (the snake if anyone cares) and that prompted me to look up what year she was born in.
The dog. Figures.
Raising the Modern Fae 