Gymboree

Last night, Erin informed me on the phone while I was still slaving away at work that she had enrolled Grant in Gymboree classes. Having little idea what she was talking about, I inquired as to why she would go and do such a thing. Apparently she doesn't think Grant is doing enough socializing (which I happen to believe is due, in part, to his inability to walk or talk), so she enrolled him in these classes which will allow him to interact with other children while learning to roll around on mats and drool on other people's stuff. I agreed to join her for the first visit, which occurred last night.

From this point forward, you will never hear me say, "Gee, I wonder if there's something worth blogging about this week." I now have material. For a lifetime.

Upon entering the rubberized wonderland that is the Avon, Indiana branch of Gymboree, there were several things worth noting. The first was a large circle of parents with kids on their laps, all sitting in socked feet. They were singing a song that sounded vaguely like a song from one of Grant's CDs -- one of the ones that if played on repeat enough times says subliminally, "Smash this CD, and don't have more kids." Leading this third ring of hell was an overly chipper woman in her late 30's, similing as if to say, "Please help me not to beat one of these kids tonight."

We tossed our shoes to the side and headed for the circle. Grant looked at the whole situation with an understandably questioning eye. It was obvious from his look that something seemed amiss to him. I couldn't tell if it was the overt chipperness of the room that had him concerned, or if he was able to discern the fact that there were at least two parents who's faces said, "Oh good. My pasty white kid now has a black friend. Check."

After a couple of choruses, the kids were turned loose on any number of plastic and rubber slides and other things to crawl around on. After watching one kid slide on a trail of his own slobber and then seeing another give un unexplained "Squish!" upon plopping onto another piece of equipment, I inquired as to how they were able to drop an entire strip mall into a vat of bleach at the end of each evening. I was assured that everything was sterilized properly, but there would have needed to have been a "My First Hazmat" crew present for me to be comfortable.

It became quickly apparent that in this class, Grant was not only "the black kid" but also "the black kid who can't walk." One little red haired stepchild smirked as he watched Grant do his patented scoot across the mat. I quickly told that kid that he'd be lucky to be playing basketball in Indiana past the third grade, while Grant would most assuredly be playing in the NBA some day (perhaps as the mascot). The other parents were also unable to help but stiffle laughter at Grant's mobility issues. Several told us, "He'll figure it out" or "I bet he's doing better in a month." Doing better? Show me another kid with the mind to innovate a way of transporting one's self without ever leaving the seated position? Poppycock.

At the end of the 45 minute session was a drill involving the parents floating a parachute above the kids heads. The parachute would fall down on the kids, and then we'd billow it back up, allowing the screams and wailing to permeate the rest of the room.

I should preface this by introducing everyone to Ian. Grant met Ian early in the evening and took a liking to him. As it turns out, the only social connection we've taught Grant is to kiss. Upon hopping toward Ian early in the night, Grant planted one of his open mouthed kisses on him. Erin and I had a good laugh about it with Ian's mother, and several times throughout the night, Grant and Ian would meet on the rubber mat and have another quick smooch.

I must say that this did lead to some level of anxiety on my part. Erin kept laughing it off, but I could tell that Ian's mother was one kiss away from putting Grant's picture on a light pole by the school bus stop. So I tried to show Grant how to shake hands with Ian or put him in a headlock.

Now during the parachute drill, Ian and Grant naturally ended up seated next to each other. They seemed to be enjoying their time together, laughing and sharing tips on how to pee out the sides of a diaper. We covered everyone with the parachute, sang for a moment, then lifted it up. Ian and Grant giggled. We did it again. Ian and Grant giggled.

The third time we lifted the parachute, Grant was flat on his back with Ian laying on top of him. I had one of those Fred Sanford heart attack moments. You remember, the ones where he'd clutch his chest and fall on his back? I quickly snapped Grant up, only outpaced by Ian's mom. She was jabbering something about "How did that happen?" I hated to tell her that Grant had been giving Ian the green light to first base all night with his "come hither" smooches. We both chuckled nervously while the other parents guffawed.

I began explaining the situation to Grant, even pausing to point out little Audrey in her pigtails. In the end, he was unphased by the situation. Ian didn't seem particularly bothered either, but I do wonder how he's planning on getting an education when the courts won't let him within 100 yards of a school now.

In the end, Gymboree was a good learning experience for Grant...and daddy. Even today it seems like Grant is pulling up on things more, so perhaps the exposure to other toddlers will encourage him to make use of his feet. And what about Ian? I suppose next week we'll reintroduce Grant and Ian, but I plan to have my camera in hand when we do. Those pictures will be worth a fortune when Grant brings home his first date.