My Official Induction into the Hall of “Those People”

Minnesota winters are endurance tests for parents. Sure, we want to spend our weekends enriching our children through culturally valuable activities, helping them grow into mature adults who give back to society. But the reality is, after 5 months of being stuck inside, you end up watching “Ice Age – Dawn of the Dinosaur” three times in a row as you negotiate a third bag of fruit snacks for just one slice of apple.

So this winter, we chose to get them out of the house with gymnastics. Yes, it provides valuable instruction on coordination and balance. But it also completely wipes them out, resulting in long naps.

This Saturday started like any other; my loving, thoughtful husband rose with the kids, fed them, got them dressed, and then took Lily, our daughter to her 9:30am toddler class. I enjoyed a little extra sleep, a steamy shower and cleaned the kitchen (hey, I’ll trade a dirty kitchen for extra sleep any day).

But everything was about to change… Here’s how it went down.

11:00am: Caring husband approaches. “I’m gonna run to the store to grab stuff for the slow cooker. Can you take Lily with you to Quinn’s class and I’ll pick her up on my way home? I’ll be right behind you, 10 minutes tops.” I agree, he disappears out the door.

11:05: Argue with Lily to put on her underwear and pants, and with Quinn to wear tennis shoes instead of flip-flops (it had snowed).

11:20: We’re late; I bribe them into the car with fruit roll-ups.

11:28: We pull into gym parking lot; 2 minutes to spare.

11:29: Quinn must make a monumental decision… which, out of the 100 empty cubbies, should he place his shoes and coat in?

11:30: Pick up the three cubbies worth of items Lily has pulled out and replace them, hoping I got the right combination of clothes and shoes.

11:31: Enter gym to find Quinn’s class – the one with four, 5-year old boys in a room full of 75+ giggling pre-teen girls. Instead, Lily finds the area of her class.

11:32: Lily melts down… she wants to play. I pick her up, kicking, screaming, and dodging the hair pulling. We then find a gym employee who reluctantly takes Quinn (who is, of course, disrespectfully late) to his class in the back of the gym.

11:34: Distract Lily by sitting her in front of a cartoon in a cheap plastic patio chair (you know, the kind you buy at Walmart for $4.99).

11:40: (The “Ten minutes, tops” deadline): Lily stands and starts dancing. I reach for her just as she tips backwards, tumbling to the ground. Cue 2 year old shrieks (out of fear, not pain as she landed on her tushie).

11:44 (4 minutes past “It’s okay, he’s probably caught up” deadline): Comforting Lily’s tears when Mommy instincts kick in; I hear another familiar cry, this one belonging to Quinn. I turn and see him being led by his teacher with blood dripping down his chin. (He slipped and bit his lip on the parallel bar).

11:47 (7 minutes past “Where is he” deadline): I peel Lily off and sit her back in the cheap plastic chair. I pick up Quinn and set him in the other cheap plastic chair. I begin comforting Quinn with a paper towel and ice pack, fending off Lily who’s clinging to my arm.

11:52 (12 minutes past “Ten minutes my butt” deadline): I convince Lily to watch tv show again, son not calming down.

11:55 (15 minutes past “I swear, if you don’t get here soon” deadline): I hear “Mommy, I stuck.” I turn; Lily attempted to slide under the arm rest and is now lodged in the chair. Quinn is still crying. I try to push Lily out. Quinn is now sobbing. I try to lift Lily up. Quinn is now yelling because I’m not holding the ice pack.

11:56: Lily begins crying because she finally realizes she’ll probably spend eternity stuck in a cheap plastic chair.

11:57 (17 minutes past the “this is not going to be pretty” deadline): An angel appears, “Miss, you look like you could use a little help.” Then an obviously caring, patient, and kind father (who’d never leave his wife to fend for herself during a gymnastics class with two children) wedges Lily between his legs and twists the chair over her head.

11:58 (18 minutes past the “This better be the best slow cooked dinner in history” deadline): Quinn finally calms down, bleeding has stopped, and he decides to return to class.

12:00 (20 minutes past the “oh, you are so asking for it” deadline): Lily has to go potty; there’s no foot stool. Meltdown in echoing bathroom initiates. She finally goes potty, then wants to wash her hands; there’s still no foot stool. Meltdown in echoing bathroom recommences.

12:05 (25 minutes past the “I totally relate to a Praying Mantis” deadline): Lily walks out of the bathroom to find a vending machine -it’s like the Willy Wonka Factory just appeared in front of her. Her shriek for treats re-ignites.

12:10 (30 minutes past the “You’ll be lucky to survive the night” deadline): Cell phone rings – “Took me longer than I thought.” Husband says casually, “why don’t you just keep both of them and I’ll meet you at home?” Me, as at least a dozen ‘Parent of the Year’ recipients watch, gives him 5 minutes to get to the gym.

12:15 (35 minutes past the “Don’t look, speak, or even breathe in my presence” deadline): Husband picks up daughter and leaves.

12:30: Son’s class ends.

12:31: As the doors to the gym close, I hear a collective sigh and know that sound means we’ve just been inducted into the Hall of “Those People.”