New Jersey Weekly Desk
Supermoms and Superkids and Superfluous
by Debra Galant
September 27, 1998
In the beginning, there was one baby-and-me post-natal class, and that was right up the block. Soon after followed the first play group and, a year later, something along the lines of Gymboree.
Those were the days, when I could feel a deep swell of parental pride watching my child walk shakily across the room.
Unfortunately, as life forms grow, they become more complex—and so do their schedules. It also takes more and more to have our children impress us. Therefore, we must give them lessons. And, here in the suburbs, that means a lot of driving.
This is the time of year when earnest parents can be easily undone by their good intentions. David Szmak, a psychologist in Montclair, calls it a “kid-in-the-candy shop” phenomenon.
“We live in a time of such abundance,” he says. “There’s this and there’s that. Everything takes on this perception of being crucial. So you start to grab.”
And we’re talking about parents here.
One year, I devised a dazzlingly complicated schedule for Saturday mornings, only slightly less hectic than a drawing room farce. I dropped Margot at gymnastics, ran to the gym, put Noah in babysitting, worked out, picked up Noah, picked up Margot, dropped her at art, went grocery shopping, then picked up Margot again.
It was tight. Going to the bathroom could throw the whole thing off. But it achieved the goals of exercise, nourishment and culture.
Then Margot broke her ankle. Gymnastics was out – and so was everything else. For the six glorious weeks that Margot was in her cast, we abandoned all attempts a self-improvement. Instead, we did what we really wanted to do on Saturday mornings. The kids watched television; I read in bed.
I try to remember that episode when the brochures come around. Unfortunately, I am usually a sucker for that one activity that will transform my children’s lives.
Last year, it was Tae Kwon Do. One family we know had sent their son, and reported newfound strength, coordination and self-confidence. Besides, the uniforms were cool. Did my children deserve anything less? Of course not.
There was, naturally, a two-month minimum which, for two kids, required an outlay of $400. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked them warily.
Of course they did. At first, the decision to send them to Tae Kwon Do seemed brilliant. Noah immediately found two friends from school. Margot didn’t know anyone, but the rapid-fire commands in Korean seemed to focus her like Ritalin.
By the second week, one of Noah’s friends graduated to a higher belt and started going at a different time.
By week three, my children were whining, “Can’t we go tomorrow instead?”
I whispered to the instructor, “Let them break wood.” They did, but the thrill passed. Bending steel would have been more like it.
What they really wanted was Nickelodeon. I weighed the prospect of fighting them for the next five weeks versus losing my investment. In the end, I sold out every mother in American and let them quit.
In terms of modern suburban parenting, I think that gets me about an “F.” But when I think back to my childhood, when mothers stayed home and girls had to wear dresses to school, I remember long, lazy afternoons sitting with my little brother in the rec room watching Captain Tug.
True, I went to Brownies. For about four years, I walked to piano lessons. I took a dance class, which I hated. But, oddly, what I remember most was the fact that one of Captain Tug’s chief sponsors was Mayflower, which constantly had contests for kids to draw the best pictures of a moving van. It wasn’t much, but it was comfortable.
In my sane moments, when I throw out a brochure for tennis or art, I know it isn’t really a mistake to give my kids some down time.
Still, there’s a feeling of pure panic when I see someone’s kid doing something accomplished. Like walking over to the piano and playing Beethoven. That always gets me. Because of their organized and persistent parents, I think, those children will end up playing Carnegie Hall. Mine will end up sweeping it.
But you never know. One day last year, we went to the Newark Museum (culture). Then we ate Indian food (culinary adventure). On the way home, for reasons I cannot recall, my children suddenly started doing Looney Toon imitations. They were both surprisingly good.
Noah was especially effective as Elmer Fudd. Actually, this skill may come in handy; he wants to be a stand-up comic when he grows up.
I wonder how they are at drawing moving vans.
