My Overscheduled Child

“I can’t do it, but I have to do it! I’m overwhelmed,” my daughter, The Bean, shrieked, as she rocked anxiously in her desk seat. She stared down at a page of multiplication problems, the same kind of homework that she’d breezed through the night before. It was a 15-minute assignment, but it was taking eons. Sometimes, just doing simple things like homework takes on a life of its own at my house – and perhaps at yours, too. My kid has gotten straight As for the last couple of semesters and seems generally unfazed by schoolwork. So I wondered, what’s with the breakdown? Why was she so suddenly freaked out?

This is what I pondered in the moments that followed a no-holds-barred boo-hoo-fest that included The Bean running upstairs, flinging herself atop a particularly grungy and timeworn stuffed bear and wailing like a banshee. The boo-hooing was also unusual. The frantic behavior reminded me of someone else – me, usually as I’m banging away at the laptop with one eye darting from screen to whatever’s bubbling on the kitchen stove to the clock and back again, because work time sometimes runs into overtime here at the home office of Families, Inc.

You see, The Bean's got art lessons…and gymnastics lessons…and there’s twice-weekly chorus practice…and CCD…and after-school program…and Girl Scouts….the school talent show…and the enrichment program in school … and journalism club … and play dates …and sleepovers...commitments are everywhere. Even as I write this, I begin to feel a sense of impending cataclysm rising in my own chest. I feel a ball about to drop. I feel – overscheduled. And it isn’t even my schedule! Last week, as we roamed through a craft store, I could see the giddy, gleeful look in her eye as she contemplated new activities. She announced, “I want to take knitting lessons!” as we passed a flyer touting classes for kids.

“There’s time in your life to take lots of lessons – but you don’t have to take them all at one time,” I said, which garnered a muted protest. It’s a phrase I picked up from her dad, who has The Bean at his house about half the time. We talk a lot – and sadly for him, I definitely do most of the talking, but coparenting a kid in two houses means there’s lots to discuss, whether we feel like it or not.

My daughter loves to try new things, and so her dad and I have let her –probably to the point where we’ve enabled her. We’ve encouraged her to get involved and take lessons and participate in clubs. And, because we live in two different homes, her scheduling involves the endless emailing of appointments, carefully sent back and forth into the Microsoft Outlook calendars that her dad and I maintain for just this purpose, permission slips that pass back and forth to be reviewed and signed, checks to be made out by one or the other of us. In our mutual defense, we do draw the line – no late-night homework, downtime after dinner is a must, early bedtimes on weeknights.

But how much fun is too much fun? How do you tell when you’ve overdone it? I came to realize that my daughter’s problem wasn’t really with math – it was really more of an issue about not having enough downtime, to just hang out and be a kid.

And she’d been trying to tell us, in her way. We just weren’t able to hear it at first. In retrospect, I can see that she actually hit the tipping point a few weeks ago, when we signed her up for Saturday morning art lessons. Yes, our daughter loves making art, but she also loves her Saturday mornings, which have historically been dedicated to two things – and two things only, in both of our houses: 1) Hanging out in PJs and 2) watching cartoons or reading. Variations on that theme include a) eating pancakes or bagels and b) watching a movie. Now, she wanted the art lessons, and after discussing this with her and her dad, we agreed to make the commitment to a six-week session. And the follies began on Week 2, when the foot-dragging, whining and push-back began. Our normally compliant daughter didn’t want to go – and it wasn’t because the lessons weren’t fun. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why, but she just couldn’t seem to pry herself from the gravitational pull of the sofa in time to get ready. And, several weeks later, after each of us giving motherly and fatherly sermons on starting what you finish, the tug of war continued. There were a few bad-attitude fests that came out of nowhere. And a few bouts of tears. And a few rounds of “I can’t do its” that popped up in odd situations (like the math homework drama).

Long about Week 4 of the lessons, her dad and I compared notes – The Bean told her dad that she wanted to do the lessons after he’d encouraged her to tap into her native talent and “develop her brain,” but told me that she’d rather not do them after I’d observed that she seemed like she just wanted to hang out. Her dad and I debated online and on the phone about whether or not to sign her up for the next six sessions – and I pointed out that because we were getting two very different readings of the same situation, our daughter was probably trying to please the both of us and not herself.

Ultimately, after the “I’m overwhelmed” cry rattled the windows of my suburban Tudor, I got dad on the phone, explained the situation, and said, “I think she’s toast…we’d better pull the plug on some activity soon!” It didn’t have to be art class, but it was the last activity we’d “hired,” which made it logical for art to be the first “fired.” We agreed to pull the plug on art.

All of this focused, scheduled time had taken its toll, and the limited amount of time she actually has to just be a kid, zone out, play with her toys or watch a favorite show, was not enough to replenish her body and brain. So, I made a unilateral decision to dial down the activity level at my house. Over the last few days, we’ve spent time building models, watching TV, going to the bookstore, and turned off the TV to read in our jammies. After just a few extra hours of chill time, The Bean seems to be back to her cool, enthused self again. Math is just math, not a threat to her survival.

After witnessing her revival, I reminded myself that it wouldn’t be such a bad thing for me to close the laptop for good at dinner time, put on my jammies and join her on the couch. And art class? Art class is fired, so The Bean gets her languid Saturday mornings back, unscheduled, and we get her back, unfrazzled. If a hole opens up in her schedule, I won’t be so tempted to entertain the subject of art lessons, knitting class or bungee jumping. Enough already. This kid’s schedule is full enough.

Is your kid overscheduled? Check out “The Over-Scheduled Child” by child psychologist Alvin Rosenfeld and Nicole Wise. (St. Martin’s Griffin, $13.95)