You Say Hello, I Say Goodbye

I went back to school when my first baby (Miles, now 2-1/2) was four months old and I always worried that he was somehow deprived of the special experiences that children with stay-at-home-Moms had.

We live in San Francisco, where enrichment classes are abundant. Practically every family I know takes swimming (sometimes private) and music classes. Some take gymnastics too. One friend has her 2-1/2 year old son signed up for soccer. In my neighborhood, there’s a studio which offers art classes for 2 year olds. There’s even a woodshop class.

I might work, but perhaps I could fit a whole week of enrichment into a couple of classes. When Miles was six months old, I signed up for swimming and Music Together. I had to sandwich swimming into lunchtimes on a work-at-home days and knock off early on Friday afternoons for music. After my daughter was born, I had to bring her along too. Even before the book A Perfect Madness, my Mom said we were crazy.

I guess we are. I found our fun filled activities weren't so fun. Miles was incapable of sitting still at music class. He did practically anything except music. While the other kids sat on the mothers’ laps and sang the Hello Song, Miles wanted to pour water from the water cooler, or unpack the supply closet, or climb up the shelves. Sometimes I’d sit with Mia and try to pretend that he wasn’t with me, but when he started throwing tambourines at the other kids I had to start chasing him. I'd leave Mia propped into a sitting position holding (translate: sucking on) an instrument. Sometimes by the time I'd saved Miles she’d toppled over on her maracas.

At the same time, I started noticing that he wanted to spend more and more time at home, building endless Lego houses or going on road trips in the Cozy Coupe. So I said “enough”. No more music class. It was freeing, not to be racing across town, trying to find a parking spot, worrying about being late, threatening Miles or plying him with treats to be good. Sometimes when my friends talk about their latest classes, I’ll have a twinge. I’ll worry that he won’t make it into the right kindergarten, the right private school, Julliard.

Then I’ll think about all of things that we’re doing – riding the bus, talking to the guys in the bagel shop, watching the diggers on Dolores Street -- and I’ll know that he’s experiencing things, learning things about the world.

The irony of the whole thing is that now that we are staying home, the game that we play most often is the one in which Miles gets out his guitar, gives me the maracas, and we sit in a circle (of two) while he sings the Hello Song.