Today, Zoey attended her friend Helen's gymnastics class. It was "Bring A Friend To Class Day," but a more appropriate title would've been "Bring A Friend To Class And Giver Him/Her A Taste Of Our Crack Class And Hopefully He/She Will Fall In Love With It And Pester His/Her Parents Until They Finally Relent And Enroll Him/Her Day."
As I stated in an earlier post, Zoey already attends a gymnastics class, which is much more kid friendly than the one she attended today. Helen's class was in an Olympics training facility. Well, not really, but there were all these eight- to ten-year-olds doing flips on parallel bars and balance beams. It was pretty impressive. And over in one small corner was the "kid area," which consisted of a few mats, a balance beam, some obstacles, and a rope ladder.
Unlike Zoey's class, the parents aren't allowed in the gym with the children; instead, the parents stay in another room and watch the kids perform through windows, giving the place a zoolike feel (which, if the other kids are anything like Zoey, is a fairly reasonable comparison).
There were a bunch of Soccer Moms talking about Soccer Mom Things in the viewing area; as usual, Zed and I were the only representatives of our gender present. Through my travels with my children, I have deduced that there are two types of Soccer Moms:
- Type I: those who view me as a hero for what I do (which I am not) and instantly include me in on their conversation.
- Type II: those who view me as a pariah, almost like a sexual predator (which I am also not), and instantly shun me and keep a watchful eye on me lest I get too close to their children.
Anyway, I was walking Zed around the room, trying to keep him occupied while feigning interest in the conversations around me. One woman (hereafter referred to as Ms. Bea Yotch (I'm assuming that's not her real name)) whom I did not know and had not spoken to said, "If he gets too heavy, I'll hold him for you."
You don't think I'm capable, do you, woman? I do this all day long, sometimes with Zoey in the other arm. Besides, I still get a little nervous when other members of our family hold him. Like I'd really trust a complete stranger.
"I'm fine," I replied. "I'm used to carrying this big fellow around." I then went into my spiel about how big he has been at various stages in his life (it's a wonder I don't carry his developmental chart around with me) just to make friendly conversation.
Zed began to get cranky so I gave him a bottle. Ms. Yotch was staring at us the whole time. Finally she said, "Most husbands wouldn't do what you do." I always pity the women who say things like that to me (I hear it a lot) because I know what they really want to say is "My husband would never do what you do."
So I gave her my stock reply, "I wouldn't trade it for the world," because:
- It's the truth.
- It's no big deal and don't know why others make such a big deal out of it. They wouldn't say the same thing to a woman.
- I have trouble dealing with compliments, especially from complete strangers.
"No," I replied, "he'd end up in a large pool of sweat." She was quiet for a few seconds before adding, "Their body temperature drops when they're sleeping."
Evil Chag was ready to curse this woman out. He began wrestling control of my mouth from Good Chag. But then the kids entered the room, so he slinked back to the dark recesses of my mind to think his evil thoughts.
One of the little girls in Helen's class took one look at Ms. Yotch and said, "Mommy, where are her real eyebrows? Why did she draw some eyebrows on her head?"
Evil Chag laughed. I promptly invited the little girl over to my house for milk and cookies. Her mom just looked at me funny and rushed out of the room. Guess she was a Type II.
