Going Swimingly

So, among the list of activities I think I must involve my daughter in, swimming lessons rank high on the list. I took them as a kid, and am very confident in the water (and love it). We also have a pool, so it seems requisite to feel more confident about having our daughter swim safely.

Well, like all things I do, I compulsively researched all the options and quickly realized that most swimming lessons are designed around the non-schedules of non-working moms. Unless I want to kill 8 consecutive Saturdays with 11 a.m. lessons, then my options are during the workday. Fine. I’m lucky enough to have a pretty flexible schedule, despite a demanding job. However, this means that I’m scrambling to get my girl there on a now insane Friday schedule. So all you moms out there know that, since the stakes are high, stuff ain’t going as planned.

Plans. Ha. Needless to say, the first lesson was a near fiasco. Despite having been told that moms were discouraged to watch the kids in the water, as they’d be a distraction, when I got to swim lessons–laptop in tow–all the moms were lined up in chairs next to the water. When my girl refused. Yes, REFUSED, to go near the pool, the teacher told me that I was encouraged to get in with her–”swim lessons shouldn’t be a punishment, mom, you should try to make her feel comfortable in the water… this is why we encourage kids to start younger.” Ya? Thanks for sharing.

In fact: We did “mommy and me” swim lessons (on that crappy Saturday-killing schedule) and, as I’ve mentioned here, we have a frigging pool. This kid IS comfortable in the water. She jumps in, she roams about, she goes under, she just can’t SWIM. But with all “good mommy” eyes on me, I had to kick off my new shoes, roll up my pants, and wade down the stairs to get my dear girl the least bit wet, much less “swimming.”

 

However, the teacher did show great promise: I saw a child only 6 months older than mine floating and using his arms in a swimming-type-way. And more importantly, at the end of my daughter’s class, she suggested I find a swimming related bribe sufficient to get the child into the pool (or wear my suit next time).

Oh, the power of the bribe! My daughter is going through a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle obsession. Ya, the mom’s at the pool already looking on me piteously almost gagged when I had to call my daughter Michaelangelo to get her attention. So I dug through my things and found a TMNT band aid from my youth. Yes, yellowed with age, saved for something important all these years. And…

It worked! The second lesson, she got into the pool, retrieved objects from under water, sang with the other kids and even wowed the teacher by “pulling with her arms” when the teacher was whisking her through the water! Lesson three is yet to come, but if all else fails, I have a few more Band Aids.

A Public Service Announcement

I would like to take a moment to present a public service announcement of sorts.  I’m sure most of you with children probably already know this, but in case you, like myself, are a little slow, here it is:  CHILDREN LACK THE CAPACITY TO CARE ABOUT YOU.  That’s right, those little angels that you shared your body with for nine months, birthed, fed, and nurtured, all the while putting thier needs before yours, could care less about anything but themselves. 

Last week, my kids asked me if I would take them for a wagon ride.  The request seemed innocuous enough and even sounded kind of fun.  Once the battle over where everyone would be seated was over, we started off on our way.  We happily started the adventure, pointing out birds and flowers along the way.  Then, as we started down the hill of our driveway, the wagon started to pick up speed.  By the time we reached our mail box, we were going at a pretty good clip.  Seeing a car coming down the street, I stepped infront of the wagon, effectively acting as a human doorstop.  Obscenities came to mind as the wheels scraped my calves.  “Why are we stopping?”  “Let’s go Mommy!”  The tiny ingrates did not even care that I may have just saved thier lives.  Nor did they care that my legs were now missing a layer of flesh in the middle of prime shorts season. 

Once the danger had passed, we continued the ride.  All the while picking up speed as we raced down the hill.  Sometime around the third house, I had to start jogging to keep  up with the wagon which was trying to pass me.  By the fifth house, I had to start running to stay in control of the wagon that was racing down the hill.  By the time we reached the bottom of the hill we must have been clocking 4 mph.  Now, you may be saying that’s not that fast, but for an out of shape housewife who enjoys  vacations to Marlboro country, that’s beyond the laws of physics. 

In order to stop the wagon, I had to perform a derailing manuver I once saw on Cops.  The children cheered thier good fortune, a ride and a show.  My lungs heaving, I wondered how in the hell I would manage to climb the hill to get us home.  I briefly considered thumbing a ride from a nieghbor, but at the urging of the children, I started to treck back up the hill.  With every step, the wieght of the children began pulling at me.  As I started the incline, my breathing became labored and I started to wish I hadn’t cancelled my membership to the gym.  I was secretly relieved when I had to pull over to stop a fight between the two boys.  I continued up the hill to chants of, “Faster.”  I was becoming quite tired as we passed a storm drain.  Thankfully, a storm drain is a world of wonder to toddlers and they were all too happy to look at it and ask atleast 39 questions about it.   For once, I was happy to answer the same questions over and over again, because the more we stopped to talk, the better my chances of catching my breath. 

Of course, the break was short, and we began again up the steepest part of the hill.  I considered stopping at the neighbor’s house for a drink.  I envisioned myself on all fours lapping water from the sprinkler.  But, I decided this was not the best way to meet my new neighbor.  Finally, we reached our driveway and as I bent down to kiss the pavement the kids asked if we could do it again.  “No.  Mommy is tired, she needs a break, go play.”  “Then can you push us on the swing?” 

As I crawled to a lawn chair, I had to laugh at their complete disregard for my well being.  They truly don’t care how I feel as long as they are entertained.  Oh well, I suppose its normal, children don’t actually have the brain capacity to feel empathy.  The ability to care about the needs of others does not develop until a sometime around adolescence.  So, even though your kids don’t care about you, they really can’t help it.  Not that that keeps me from thinking they are ingrates.

Family Yoga

Anything that gets mom out of the house for more than an hour to do something for herself is a good thing. For the first year after my daughter was born, once a week my husband would get home and I’d hand off the baby and dash out to a yoga space five minutes away. For an hour a half I worked out hard, but also had those wonderful peaceful moments that a good yoga practice offers. I left feeling refreshed and ready to head back into the ring for another round. Then the woman who owned the center went and had her own baby and abandoned us. I tried two other nearby yoga classes, but one was geriatric and the other was all about fitness and not in any way calming. And frankly: moms need a lot more of the later than the former, waistlines be damned.

So, like so many pre-baby ”selfish” activities, yoga went by the wayside. However, when my girl was about two, I bought a Yoga Kids DVD. In it, a group of kids do various yoga poses to letters of the alphabet (D is for downward dog). It is pretty fun and funny to watch her wriggle about on the floor. And at the end, there’s a nice quiet-down section, making it a good choice before nap time. 

Anyhow, when my former yoga teacher extraordinaire told me that she was going to host family yoga night about 20 minutes from my house, I asked my girl if she wanted to go and she was ecstatic! Couldn’t stop talking about it for days! Was ready to go an hour beforehand, with her yoga mat by the door.

Ah, but like so many things for which we are giddy with excitement: reality bites. My girl spent the first 20 minutes hiding under me, behind me, under her mat… The other kids, including another three-year-old, were all participating and happily giggling along with Kristi. And to add insult and injury, I am not terribly graceful and have worked hard to develop any sort of balance. Suffice it to say that a wee rascal winding herself around me was less than conducive to most poses. It is not yogic to be competitive, but hey–I am–and we were sucking! That’s it, I thought, $15 clams wasted and we’re not doing this again. But then, all of a sudden, she started doing the poses. She played “yogi says” with the other kids, doing their tree poses in a line across the room. And when daddy asked if we had fun, my girl loudly proclaimed “Ya!!! I want to go again!!!” And while I was actually stressed for half the session (rather than relaxed as I am after my selfish adult only classes), to judge from my aching muscles, I did get a workout. But frankly, I’m not sure why I’d do it again, but I maybe that’s just my selfish I-want-my-hour-to-myself showing.