The business of baby camp

Everyone has a dream. I have a dream, and if by articulating this vision I can convince you to be part of it, then it may come true. It has everything to do with parents being active in their children’s education.  

It all started when my first child was born. With all the joy that a baby’s smile brings, I realized that I wanted to build her a paradise where she could enjoy her first years on earth. A proper castle with cords that she could pull as she crawled and lights that turned on just because she sat on them. Naturally, she would want her mama to be with her. And yaya. Plus brothers and sisters. And yes, Wowo, too.

Thus, baby camp started to form. We prepared places for children under two — clean floors that one could enter barefoot, empty cans stacked, ready to make a noise when pushed. Mamas would help to set up play kitchens with tiny cups that babies could curl their fingers around. 

The Granby Hall in Harrogate, England, served as our campus on Monday mornings. The youngest attendee was Arthur, who was born a mere seven hours before his mama brought him directly from the hospital. Her older child needed to run and sing, so she brought her newborn along. We drew the curtains and darkened a room to welcome them. The children used flashlight beams on the twinkling ceiling. We celebrated a new arrival. 

Grandpas would also attend baby camp.  One of the grandpas shared his story: “I was learning to be a yoga teacher. At first, I was shy. I knew that at 65, I might look too old starting a new career. I had just retired and my daughter had a part-time job, which left me in charge of her two children.  I felt odd because I had to take care of an infant and a toddler, plus muster the courage to lead a yoga class. I was frightened and unsure of how to approach my lessons. The children were running around and mine needed attention. I promised myself that on my next visit, at least I would try.”

He persevered and with his yoga mat laid out on the wooden floor, did the sun salutation movements. Some of the children mimicked him. A hand up above the head then both hands down on the floor got some toddlers standing on wobbly legs. Soon enough, the mothers also did the stretches and grandpa developed his skills as a yoga teacher. It was the first time for many mamas to attend an exercise class beside their infants. 

It was just as fun for the groups we would invite to our barn in our country home. New mothers and fathers gather together and so it was that we had friends who had just given birth, plus had older children to care for. They would come on weekends, children running out of their cars, happily chirping, “Bibicam.” The adults tried to control their children and urged them to greet and say their pleases until the parents found out that in the barn, their children had no rules. Parents were relieved to know that in baby camp, children were free to do what they wanted. They could do no wrong. That was the theory.

It is easy enough to implement this practice for the under-twos as their mischievous acts would focus on splashing water or grinning after throwing ping-pong balls down steep steps. Tantrums, screams, and loud protests were listened to. If a baby wanted to climb the platform, someone was ready to help her along. Tunnels gave crawling babies the pleasure of hearing their echoes. Adults were taught to encourage the child by saying, “Yes, you can” whenever a child attempted to do something. And when the toddler would fall, we learned to give the child time to pick himself up and clap for him.

We needed to provide a place where the babies’ older brothers and sisters could have fun, too. These over-twos could decide what they wanted to do and how to behave; no one to tell them to mind their p’s and q’s and thank you’s and for once not be given any guidelines or rules. That was the plan. 

Yes, the children pushed the line. They wrote on walls and when the felt tips dried out, they aerosol-sprayed their names on the white walls. Play-Doh would be mixed with Yorkshire snow; matches were lit and crayons melted. Older children would play a follow-the-leader game that made me close my eyes for fear of their falling. Sofas would be rearranged to make bouncing trampolines for the gymnastics shows that the children felt the need to have while Jess would be crawling, trying to be part of the jumping gang. By this time, I had two more children who rejoiced every time they knew it was baby-camp time.

This took place in our country home in Yorkshire. Our barn overlooked fields where black and white cows stood quietly, almost without moving, for hours. Hundreds of sheep also grazed calmly. When people tell you to be still and know there is a God, here in the rolling green countryside of England, you will understand.  The peaceful views helped me to believe that it is good for children to have a place where they can monitor themselves. The relief that adults have from knowing that they do not have to tell their children how to behave was also a welcome feeling. The guideline was to “catch their children doing something right.”

Then, one rainy day, I saw a rope that was tied to the top of the barn’s window frame. A neighbor we named “Street Rat” had found some discarded twine and with the help of Samuel, my only son, they formed a homemade zip line. From the top of the 30-foot barn where the rope was attached, the two boys secured the other end to a wooden fence that surrounded the fields. Street Rat took the first ride and zipped in safely. Four-year-old Samuel was next. He survived, triumphant.

It was then that we had to rethink our theory of how far to trust our children with doing the right thing. We decided that if anyone had to be reprimanded, it would not be by their parents. Any correcting or guiding of behavior for the over-twos would be done by someone other than a parent. The children suggested that this would be one of the only places where they could enjoy the company of their parents without feeling responsible for their behavior. So it was that we had adventures on wheelbarrows and parties with food fights. We had long walks in the rain and used muddy boots to trample on cow dung.

In 1996, we moved to the Philippines. Here, in the land blessed with nannies who are treasured by the Prince Williams of this world, we realized how it can be a profitable venture. Our precious exports, our beloved yayas, can be recognized for the childcare skills that they have. Daddies and lolas can enjoy being with a baby, knowing that danger is a bit more controlled. Parents can learn what a pleasure it is to be a part of their children’s education, and best of all, children can run without being told that they will fall. 

I have a meeting with a property developer whose residents will have fun using their computers beside their crawling infants. Some of them will need to leave their babies to be cared for while they are at work. Your feedback may give him the courage to invest in such a venture … and perhaps convince him to have the elevator buttons start just two inches from the floor.

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For more information, contact babycamp2@gmail.com.