Friday 24 Aug
This week the eldest 2 minxes have returned to/started primary school, and resumed their twice a week after-school sports. Last year it was swimming and ballet; this year it’s swimming and gymnastics.
I know I’ve written long and wrung my hands hard over Maxi Minx and her swimming, so starting an entirely new swimming block, a year after starting the previous block, was a big deal to her and to me. Naively, I thought that by conquering her fear of the deep end, and successfully meeting the objectives to move on a block, Maxi would be fine in this block of lessons. Um, that’ll be a great big NO, then. She clung to the edge with every stroke. Poor Nic, her teacher, kept going to hug her, but moving back before actually making contact, so it looked like she was flapping her arms around. At one point Maxi stood and cried. Had I been able to get to her side within even 3 minutes, I’d have gone and given the poor wee soul a huge hug. But I couldn’t. All I could do was stand and feel my own eyes fill up with tears. Nic is obviously a very experienced teacher, though, and she knew how to encourage Maxi. After a few more lengths, Maxi was smiling and Nic was waving her a big thumbs-up. But Maxi was still regularly grasping the side of the pool.
After the lesson, I asked Maxi why she’d cried. “My eyes swelled up with tears as I remembered that I’m scared of the deep end!” she wailed, Drama Queen to the last. I gave her a huge cuddle and did my best to reassure her whilst not making a big deal of it, but I’ve got a feeling that we’re going to have some problems…
Midi, meanwhile, went bounding into her new block of lessons. They’re also with Nic, the half-hour before Maxi’s lessons (poor Nic). Every time I looked down at Mini to read another page of her book to her, then scanned back over the pool to spot Midi again, it was easy: just look for the massive fountain of water from her flapping flipper feet. I could see Nic telling her not to kick so hard, but Midi is a very strong little girl, who’s yet to learn how to control her muscles properly. The first thing she’ll be learning to control, though, is her mouth: I caught her squirting seriously impressive long jets of water out of her mouth. Out of earshot, I giggled at the sight: they were proper long, arcing, cartoon-style jets. In earshot, though, I scolded her roundly for being dirty. Ahhhhh, the duplicity of being a mother!
Ballet was abandoned this year because it was really just a dressing-up social event for the minxes. Socialising is fine and good, but I can help the girls meet their friends on a day that suits us all better and without paying good money for the privilege. I think 2 days of planned post-school activities is plenty for little kids. And on my mission to bring up fit, healthy, strong daughters, I’d rather they did something a little more physically arduous on those 2 days than jump gently around looking pretty. As luck would have it, the day I sat down to email the (lovely) ballet teacher to let them know that I’d decided that they wouldn’t be coming back, she wrote to inform me that she was dropping the classes because they could no longer use the school. Good timing! Although I could have tried another ballet class, I felt that the time was right to move onto something quite challenging – gymnastics.
I had 2 gymnastics clubs to choose from locally: one that I knew absolutely nothing about, and the other that I’d heard churned out very good gymnasts, who insisted on an audition first, and was run like a military dictatorship. I sent emails and phone messages to both. I heard absolutely nothing from the latter, but had a very swift response from the first one. The coach who phoned me back was very patient with my barrage of questions, and agreed that it would be best to keep the girls together, as beginners, rather than split them up based on their ages. I signed the minxes up forthwith.
On the first day, though, I had some serious doubts! It opened late. The first person to go in was a young woman with 4 or 5 dogs, who then stood around and chatted, leaving the new little gymnasts and some confused mothers standing outside, doing battle with the wasps. I was told that I absolutely could not come in and see the girls*, and when I asked what most parents did while their kids were in the gym was told, “Oh, they go to Burger King”. Riiiiiiight…
*When I thought about it afterwards, I think this is absolutely a good call. Although it would be great for me to watch, it would distract the minxes. And they would be less likely to give their full attention and effort in the class.
To be fair, though, my first iffy impressions were unfounded. The minxes absolutely loved it. They spent 45 minutes bounding around, doing what they were told, actually being instructed. Maxi struggled a bit with not only being told what to do, but being challenged to push herself beyond ‘easy’; Midi relished the chance to move her physical boundaries further. They were both full of tales of using springboards and being helped to do handstands. Excellent stuff! But will I feel the same by the end of term…?