I am in awe of multi-child, multi-activity, multi-age parents. Whenever I see a mom pushing a stroller at her middle schooler’s parent-teacher conference, I always breathe a sigh of relief that it’s not me. My BFF has five (now grown) children and never fails to blow me away with her tales of raising them, following each of their activities and driving them in all directions.
Until now I have had it relatively easy. My two daughters are close enough in age and intellect that they are in the same grade. Tests arise at the same time and homework is usually in sync. By and large, they also have the same friends and social activities. They skated together for six years in the same courses and at the same times.
That all changed this year when they decided to take a break from skating to try something new. I thought it was fair enough and agreed to whatever interested them. Together they started fencing, volleyball, badminton, trampoline gymnastics, and rugby (thanks to my hubby who played 15 years, keep reading this all ties in). It was fine at the beginning when they were both into all the activities, but then each lost interest in one activity and I became a taxi service the way my BFF used to. Tuesdays, in particular, were dreaded:
3pm Pick Jania up at school and head home for snack and wardrobe change.
4pm Pick Lolita up from badminton and drive her 25 minutes to fencing.
4.45pm Drive Jania 30 minutes to rugby practice.
5.30pm Return 30 minutes to pick up Lolita.
7pm Return 30 minutes to pick up Jania and home for dinner and homework.
At the end of Tuesdays, with my gas tank empty, I always asked myself how many kids I have. Only two?
So, when the rugby team needed another coach and my hubby stepped forward, I thought I had it made. Lolita decided to stop fencing and play on Daddy’s team on Tuesdays. Hubby could then take the girls to rugby with him, thereby reducing my taxi-driver obligations. Fabulous, right?
Then came the first rugby tournament. As it turns out, my girls are close in age, but not THAT close and are therefore on different teams playing on different pitches. As luck would have it, Lolita was on pitch 3 and Jania next door on pitch 4. So I set my chair atop the hill in between and prepared to watch both play games at the same time as if I was watching a tennis match. This became even more complicated when hubby refereed yet a third game. I nearly suffered whiplash turning my head in three directions for an afternoon. Seriously, how many kids do I have??
Many of you are in the same situation, perhaps even more complicated. I tip my hat to you, you are the “whiplash parents,” the un-sung heroes. I’ve just joined your club. Perhaps we will find strength in numbers!
