swimming lessons
Three times a week. Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Both kids.
FavoriteSon is signed up for Boy Scout camp the first week of June and he has to swim a mile. A MILE. He can swim, but it’s just not very pretty to watch. He had a “mini” test a few weeks ago at the YMCA, and he passed. He and I both knew that in a 4 foot pool, he was pretty much walking. If he has to swim a mile in June, he’s going to drown. I picked a small class size (two students), a distant location (so none of his friends or acquaintances would see him) and, most importantly, I picked the only class with immediate openings. It took over an hour to find a class and sign him up. So I picked him up from school on Wednesday of last week and told him I had signed him up for swimming lessons. He has NEVER been so mad at me. NEVER. Saying things like, “You ALWAYS do this to me!” and “I would rather get an F on my report card in every single class than to go to swimming lessons.” I listened to everything he had to say and, after carefully considering his opinions and feelings for 3 long seconds, I said: “Get in the car, I don’t want to be late the first day.”
Contrast that with PinkGirl. I call the school to tell the aftercare worker that I’m on my way to pick PinkGirl up early for swimming lessons. Could she please send PinkGirl to the bathroom before I get there. I drive up the driveway a few minutes later and there’s PinkGirl, lunchbox over one arm and face pressed against the window. I open the door and she makes a beeline for the car saying things like:
“mom where are we going to swimming lessons who’s the teacher are we going right now did you bring my bathing suit the arial bathing suit fits but the pocahontas bathing suit is too little.”
Okay, then.
FavoriteSon’s lesson is at 4:20 and PinkGirl’s is at 5:00 p.m. I let her play on the stairs of the pool during FavoriteSon’s class. Midway into the class, I can clearly see FavoriteSon is gaining confidence and is surprised and happy about his almost immediate increase in skill and endurance. Afterwards, I asked him if he was still mad and he said, “no, it was okay.” (Better than nothing, I guess)
So then it’s PinkGirl’s turn. Every time the teacher says, “okay, who’s first?” PinkGirl is reaching to the sky and saying “Me! Me! Me!” At the end of the lesson, the teacher takes some pool toys and begins walking away from the kids saying “Okay, we’re going to swim to the toy, where do I put it?” The kids are yelling, “there! there! there!” but the teacher says, “What? I can’t hear you!” while walking further away. She finally sets the toys down on the opposite ledge of the pool and teasingly says, “okay, swim to the toys.”
PinkGirl yells, “Okay!” and PUSHES OFF the step toward the middle of the pool. The momentum from the push gains her a little distance - but then she sinks like a rock. I was just glad the teacher was already in the pool because my denim shorts are extremely uncomfortable when they are wet.
That experience hasn’t stopped PinkGirl. She pushed off the side of the pool again today when the teacher called her to class. This time the teacher was too far away to get her, but I reached in like ElastiGirl and snatched her out of the water.
swimming lessons. Monday, Wednesday AND Friday. As much as this COMPLETELY kills our week, I’ll be signing them up again immediately following this session. PinkGirl has no fear and thinks she can swim, while FavoriteSon still won’t exhale under water.
