What's Wrong with Down Time?

When I was a child growing up in Brooklyn, my days were largely filled with school, and little else besides Hebrew school, a once-weekly music lesson and daily practice sessions on my accordion. Laugh if you must (and I wouldn't blame you), but I actually won a number of competitions playing that thing, which might more accurately be described as an instrument of torture. But I digress.

My summers were spent roaming the neighborhood, and by the time I was in middle school, I was regularly riding the subway the few stops to the beach with my friends. There we would spend the day swimming in the waters of Brighton and Coney Island, eating slightly sandy knishes, and quenching our thirst with artificially-flavored orange drinks from the "knish man" whose tan was of a shade that might have been found on only the finest of leather goods.

Certainly, there is a difference growing up in an urban area as compared to a suburban one,  not to mention that it is a very different world that we live in today, regardless of one's location, but I still believe that not every waking moment in a child's life needs to be filled with carefully planned activities, educational experiences, or even friends.

When my children were in pre-school, I found myself surrounded by many mothers who felt that their toddlers required one-on-one interaction with other children, beyond that from which they benefitted during the hours they were in class. Play dates (or friendship by appointment, as I came to call it), were often scheduled immediately after school ended. I had difficulty understanding the value of this, since I believed what my children needed more at that age was a good nap, and their falling asleep in the car during the short ride home was proof enough for me. Also, I couldn't help but feel – in some circumstances – that the parents simply wanted more time to themselves, for which I couldn't blame them, but not at the cost of a good, solid block of rest.

Then there came the request for the addition of "enrichment" activities, which would optionally extend the child's pre-school hours to include such things as art and cooking – which to me seemed redundant, considering the fact that art and cooking were already part of the curriculum. The demand was so great that the request was granted. However, I chose not to have my children participate.

Amongst these parents, there always seemed an urgency – more on the part of some than others -- to ensure that their child have every moment of their time replete with experiences that would either potentially augment their intellectual growth in some way, or fill what would otherwise be unstructured hours with organized play. I didn't buy into it, and still don't. I often got the feeling that some were micromanaging their childrens' academic careers from the age of two, and that anything less was seen as somehow irresponsible or even neglectful.

My children are now 12 and 14, and aside from a few activities of their choosing, on and off throughout the years, both have mostly gone to school each day, come home, done their homework...and relaxed. They might choose to read a book, or go outside and shoot some baskets, or simply hang out and listen to some music. Yes, I am a stay-at-home mom, but I'm not the only one around here. Certainly having the luxury of being there for my children when they get home is something not everyone is able or chooses to have, but I still seem to be very much in the minority when it comes to living life at a less frantic pace, even when it is there for the taking. Working parents might feel the need to have their childrens' after-school and weekend hours filled with structured things to do, but if they have caregivers at their homes during the week (and most probably do), and they themselves are there on the weekends, why is there such an urgency to keep busy?

Two summers ago, I did the unthinkable; I didn't send my children to camp. Our days were spent sleeping as late as we pleased, which really wasn't all that much longer than we would normally sleep, but there were no alarm clocks to tell us that the day was officially beginning. Most mornings we would hang around the house, and when the town pool opened, we would spend two or three hours enjoying the water. We usually packed a lunch and ate it there, and sometimes as a treat would buy lunch from the concession stand. Then we would come home, shower, and the rest of the day was filled with nothing in particular. They might ride their bikes, or hang out on the deck – or even do the unthinkable and watch TV, play a video game or two, or surf the internet. If a friend was available later in the day after their own camp hours ended (far and few between, since most kids at that age seem to go to sleepaway camps), they might spend some time with them. Days that weren't punctuated by trips to the pool were filled with life's necessary  errands, and sometimes day trips. But by and large, we did what most would consider to be nothing at all. That summer, while certainly having its share of sheer boredom and the inevitable fights between the two, was the best I could recall in a very long time. It was the kind of summer many of us experienced when we ourselves were kids; what I now think of as "summer as it was meant to be." I haven't sent them back to camp since.

Things change, of course, as our children grow older; what passed for entertainment a year ago won't suffice in any way now. My daughter (the older child) needs the companionship of others her own age much more than she needs – or wants – me. And that's okay. A number of her friends are no longer attending camp, and her days will likely be spent doing things with them. I may see her at the pool, but other than bringing her there and back, I won't actually be with her. My son is younger, and is still satisfied with the leisurely pace of just winging it.

And so, we'll wing it.