One of these days, we’re gonna sit around wondering what to do with all of the time on our hands. It’s not today or tomorrow, but it might be one of these days.
One case in point: RR has been going to a music class from 9:15am-10am every Saturday since she was six months old.
Here. Do you need a reminder of what she looked like at six months old?
Anyhow, there were a few breaks for holidays here and there, but this class has been a constant presence on our lives. The CD’s fill five out of six slots in the car’s CD changer. The songs are woven into our existence. We have made genuine friendships with other parents as well as the guy who teaches the class. We begrudgingly adapted to the 9:15am start time change from 9:30am, and subsequently spent the next year RUSHING out of the house every Saturday morning, wondering how fifteen fucking minutes could matter so much in our on-timeness.
The past six months, however, have been trying. Mostly because RR is a ball of energy, and the class, although sprinkled with dancing and moving around, is a lot of sitting in a circle. And, well, that’s not RR’s bag. So we didn’t re-enroll for the next session, and starting in a few weeks, we’ll reclaim out Saturday mornings for the first time in three years. Three years!
That said, she’ll (hopefully) store up all that energy for the afternoon gymnastics class, of which will become the sole scheduled activity for RR.
And eventually, M’s parents will move out, take the dog with them, and we’ll not only reclaim our time, but our space as well. In the meantime, our cabin getaway is this weekend. And then M’s mom leaves next week for six weeks (!), which is one less person in the house for six weeks. And one day, we’ll laugh and say something like “Do you remember that time when your parents lived with us, and we had five cats, two dogs, and one three year old running around?! That was a hoot!”