Kids Club

Original Kids' Club

Lately, it feels as if the planets aligned, and I am doing things right. Another way of saying, "I have my shit together." Not that I usually don't, I get done what needs to get done with necessary enthusiasm, but I'd say my big picture thinking recharged.
Regaining this positive disposition can be attributed to many things; George getting older, consistent time for exercise and writing, not drinking beer so frequently (I'm giving this gluten free thing a try.)
I'm at the part in Bridget Jones' Diary when she takes back control of her life, the montage of her circling job listings in the news paper, hitting the gym, improving her reading material, and dumping her vices in the garbage.
My can-do-anything attitude inspired me to sign up for a gym membership, and two memberships for my kids to attend the kids' club while I exercise. The kids' club is the baby sitting room. A place, I was hoping to drop my kids off, and get some mommy reprieve, watching Real Housewives episodes on my phone while running, stepping or cycling.
My positive attitude must have affected my judgement because I thought dropping my kids off at the babysitting room would be a little difficult, but it turned out to be as I should have expected, both of them hysterical, displaying their extreme cases of mom separation anxiety and stranger danger. As I encouragingly nudged them toward toys spewed about the room, and to watch the Disney movie playing on a small TV in the corner, their grip on me tightened. I decided to sit on the ground and spend the hour playing with them in the kids' club instead of branching off to the treadmill outside the door. I told myself spending time with them in the kids club would get them comfortable, and make it easier to drop them off the next time.
Saturday morning after mentioning the kids' club, Kiki bawled in her room for ten minutes. I felt bad, so we ended up doing a jog in the jogging stroller. Saturday is a busy foot traffic morning, so I waved more frequently to other joggers, walkers and bikers. An old man walking on the other side of the street flipped me off after I waved at him. I burst out laughing and then a beaming smile lit up his face.
Sunday, I went to the gym alone so I could finally use the equipment. I see why the gym is cheap as fuck (my membership is $14 a month and the kids club was just a small up charge.) The atmosphere is not cheerful, but it has everything I need. After wandering around the poorly lit, abandoned looking upstairs fitness area, I was expecting to see a hole in the roof. I was happy to find a spinning class room, although they only offer class twice a week.
I walked by the kids' club and peeked in the window. It matched the shabby gym outside. The carpet looked dingy, and the toys were relics from the early nineties. A dust-bunny grey teddy bear sat in the corner dressed in a santa suit. I could picture it new, gleaming white with a soft velvet suit, but instead it sat slumped over looking like a hungover Bad Santa.
The door to the kids club is next to the gym entrance, without any lock, and only a clipboard is used to track kids coming and going. I started to frown thinking of those sad toys, and my kids crying in the corner while I'm in the gym burning off pent up energy. Aside from the sad sight of the room, there is the added stress of lack of security, and let's face it, we live in a time where someone can come into any public space guns blazing, so I don't like how the kids' club is the first room they'd come across.
I walked to the counter and cancelled the kids' club membership. I can use the gym early in the morning or late at night, and let the kids escape the trauma of feeling like I'm abandoning them. Many people told me, "They will stop crying the third or fourth time you leave them." I might feel positive changes in my life, but somethings aren't worth messing with. I'll just keep these two kids spoiled a bit longer. Even when things are going right, I still find myself running up against a wall, but thats really what going to a gym means.

Even in good times, I find myself running up against a wall. Literally.