The truth is I don’t think Chloe loves going to gymnastics. But I do. I hope she never quits and I hope she remains a Kindergym enthusiast for years to come.

 
There, I said it and it’s out there.

 
Chloe’s gymnastics is the best hidden secret going. I get an hour and a half every week to sit in a surprisingly comfortable, already-warmed-up-from-the-last-session, leather chair to play at least one full, uninterrupted game of Scrabble on my ipad and read on my Kobo for almost a full hour.

 
I do all of these activities guilt-free because I have nowhere else to go.

 
I make it a point not to speak to anyone unlike the other activities my kids are involved in where the parents have universally decided we are part of a book club but without the books and sometimes with a disproportionate amount of rain and cold, driving wind.

 
Chloe often waves to me through the window of the waiting room at exactly the moment the Scrabble board is tallying another Lizzy victory. I smile, we wave and I give her the thumbs up.

 
Does life get any better than gymnastics?

 
I have even gone so far as to not speak at all when someone tried to begin a dialogue at gymnastics. I was hoping they would think I didn’t speak the same language. On those nights, I only speak Scrabble.

 
To be fair, I feel like I deserve this hour and a half to decompress.

 
After all, Chloe did say to me on the drive to the gym, “Hey Mom, cute story” and then when I asked her to proceed, she simply farted.

 
Moments earlier, Hanna told me, “Hey Mom, have you ever thought of doing something with your hair? Like anything? Maybe cutting it or colouring it?”

 
I actually do both of those things. I cut my hair as well as colouring it. She looked as though that had to be impossible given the “old lady biker” coif she claimed I was sporting.

 
Ellie cried because she couldn’t put her hair in a pony-tail.

 
Let me rephrase. She could put her hair in a pony-tail. It just wasn’t right. It was either “lumpy” or there were short sprigs of hair that weren’t long enough to reach the elastic. Those hairs appeared to be the greatest source of her anger and helping her smooth them out would only make me wish I was still at gymnastics and make her wish I would drop dead.

 
I feel like saying, “Hey everyone, cute story…..”

 
But not when I’m at gymnastics.