To the Circus or shall I say Children's Socialization Group?

An unusual number of mothers arrive for the Thursday group intended to improve the children’s socialization skills. Indirectly though, the group permits my supervisor, a clinical psychologist, to observe how mothers are interacting with their children and intervene if there are any habits that might be detrimental to the child's development. Usually there are three staff members there to help lead the group, but unforeseen circumstances leave me alone with 7 mothers and their lively and loud children. By this time in the year, I know all the children by name, face, and giggle, but it is intimidating for me to be left in group mostly composed of mothers. Will it be awkward for mothers? Will the session ultimately be a prolonged silence interrupted only by a slight cough or shift in a chair?

After my supervisor serves the food to the families, she leaves to see a patient. I eventually make my way, constructing postmodern houses with foam blocks, playing plastic drums, and getting fed crackers and cheese by the kids. Sitting next to mothers, I inquire about their work weeks, their holiday plans, and their child’s progress. Surprisingly, one mother expresses how tired she is from working long hours at a corporation, especially now during the holiday season. Our conversation is mollified by the two-tooth smile of her young daughter, who now knows, according to the mother, where her mouth, nose, and ears are.

Wading through the blocks, puzzle pieces, jingly balls, and trinkets, I eventually make my way to the parachute my supervisor had purchased last week only to have all the children scared of its purples, pinks, and yellows, but this time as I grab its edges, other children draw close, curious to discover its use. Slowly, I lift my arms as the circle becomes a hemisphere bending and tilting in the air. The children that have gathered around scream in excitement as the colors slowly drift until they come to a rest. Unexpectedly, some of them look at where my hands are placed and grab hold of the edges. Then with anticipation in their eyes, they flap their small arms, sometimes unable to create enough momentum to send the parachute into the air. Before too long though, a mother approaches the parachute and helps send it flying through the air. Children dart underneath momentarily, sometimes preferring to remain there than return to the outside. Up and down, down and up, we wave our arms jumping beneath the descending blimp and jumping out just before it touches our heads. As the parachute lands one last time, I find it difficult to sing, “Clean up; clean up. Everybody do your share…,” since all I really want to do is keep the swirled circus roof in the air so we can all enjoy its fluttering wonders.