Last week, I got an email about arranging a ballet class for my six-year-old daughter Ella and her friends. A bunch of moms wanted to form a class at a posh dance studio for the girls on Monday nights. I ignored the email at first because I rarely sign up my kids for classes. Planned events and organized activities that start at a specific time are not my strength. As a mother of three, I’ve learned that I’m much happier when my kids have an open schedule. I treasure the flexibility.
That’s not to say that my kids have empty schedules. It’s the exact opposite. We love being free to explore the city on a whim! On days off from school, we’ll run around the New York Botanical Garden or trek out to the Queens County Farm Museum. After school, we’ll take a stroll through Central Park. If we haven’t been to the Met in a while, we’ll take a cab over and roam the exhibits. If my kids are grouchy, we’ll hibernate and eat popcorn and watch movies together. As a stay-at-home mom, flexibility is the biggest perk of my job. As soon as my day gets too structured, the chance to be spontaneous is taken away.
But emails about ballet kept flooding my inbox. More and more of Ella’s friends were saying “yes” to the class. When the number of girls reached ten, my guilt started kicking in. I began to wonder if Ella would feel left out. Finally, when I read about the girls participating in a recital and being fitted for costumes, my heart sank. I imagined how much fun she would have performing on stage. I started doubting my praise about the joys of a flexible schedule. Should I be signing my daughter up instead?
I thought of my childhood, my mother and the hours she happily drove me (and my two sisters) to ballet, gymnastics, art instruction, community theater, piano lessons, soccer classes…the list is endless. I remember her telling me that when she was a kid, she longed to go to these kinds of classes, but her parents couldn’t afford them. As a mother, she was thrilled that she could provide this gift to us. And did she ever!
My sisters and I thrived. I never complained about my jam-packed schedule. I was having too much fun. And nothing made my mother happier than to cheer us on from the sidelines with her big toothy grin. I don’t know how she did it. On top of carting me and my sisters around, she also worked as a public school teacher. I’m sure some days felt like they would never end for her. But she kept at it. And the same goes for my dad. I don’t remember ever hearing them complain.
When I was 18-years-old, my mother died from breast cancer, and left me with wonderful memories and a brilliant example of motherhood. I always wanted to be just like her. That is, until I became a mother.
So here I was—rereading emails about the dance class. I checked and rechecked the schedule, tuition and the studio’s website. It really did look fabulous. Much nicer than any of the classes I took growing up in a small southwest Florida town. But as the email chain kept lengthening and the class list grew, I still hadn’t responded.
I felt as if the only reason I would sign up Ella for this class would be out of obligation and guilt. But part of me felt like I wasn’t parenting correctly—like my parents had the magic formula and I was breaking it. Part of me felt like taking a ballet class is a modern milestone that every little girl should have. Every part of my husband wanted me to just sign her up so he could stop hearing me go around in circles and circles!
Finally, after thinking it over, I made the decision to keep our Monday nights free and clear. But now, my daughter is in charge of planning our adventures. We can’t wait to see what the city teaches us.
Sharon Beesley is a wife and mother of twin four-year-old boys and six-year-old Ella. She writes daily at her blog NYC Taught Me.
