I know what you all just thought.
I'm not going to get all scatological on you.
Although, yesterday Miles asked me why some poop sinks and some floats.
Ummm...I copped out like I did with his "what's behind the sky" inquiry and said, "God made some to sink and some to float."
Ah yes, sinkers and floaters...
Is it illegal to post something like this?
If it is, please let me know so I can tell these boys' mother to take it down.
Look at how happy these two anonymous boys look in the bath water!
Okay, so the tub isn't full, but look at how close their faces are to the water's edge.
Like me, you must be thinking that they love swimming.
You'll notice that one boy's great reach--like he already knows how to do the crawl.
(You'll also notice the different skin tones and that any toddler seasonal color analyst might pin the big one on the left as a "winter" and the scrappy one on the right as an "autumn.")
***You know that literary device where I take all of these superlatives and brew up my interpretation of life and then you as an observer respond with a mediocre "meh?" (That wasn't *really* the worst diaper blowout, Ali...and that wasn't *really* the best penning of a name by a 3-year-old).
This isn't one of those times.
I'm pretty sure we have had a string of the worst-est toddler swimming lessons in history. (Now that's a made up literary device I call redundant superlatives.)
Teaching Felix to swim has been worse than teaching Bob to swim.
What do you call a man with no arms, no legs and is in a pool?
I just went there; it's midnight...when my brain turns back into a pumpkin.
Both my children are sinkers.
Eric and I are sinkers.
If we had a dog, he'd be a sinker.
And sinkers do not like swimming lessons.
Swimming lessons with Felix have proven to be torture for all involved: Felix, me, the teachers, and the poor other parents/toddlers who look at me with scorn.
Actually, one father laughed in my face and said, "whoah, he's un-HAPPY!"
I was all, "Thanks from the Department of the Obvious, Dude."
And this is my extroverted, fearless child.
Okay. Here is how a typical swimming lesson goes:
- We sit on the edge of the pool and happily splash and kick.
- I do the teacher directed "entry" into the warm indoor pool water.
- Felix fuh-reaks out and refuses to get in.
- I force him in while he screams "NO! NO! I WANT DADDY! I WANT DADDY!"
- His screaming does not abate, but crescendos during the hello song.
- Then comes the required DUNK. I blow on this poor child's face, and
- We proceed to practice blowing bubbles. HELLO! I just drowned my child and you expect him to put his face back in voluntarily? Apparently, other kids have no problem doing this.
- Felix starts the visible shaking/teeth chattering in addition to the screaming, and his lips turn blue.*
- Ah, respite! We have about 5 minutes of relative calm when they bring out a bucket of balls and we motor around the pool reaching and grabbing the floating balls. What can I say. My kid loves balls.
- Balls disappear = epic screaming commences.
- I secretly hope Felix defecates in his FLUORESCENT hot pink
Speedoreusable swim briefs, just to get us out of the pool. Or fired from lessons. Yes, I just admitted that.
- Screaming carries us through all concluding activities and the good-bye song.
- The teacher says to me, "he's getting better." (lie.) "You are doing the right thing by keeping with it." (lie x2).
- We get out of the pool, I unknot my stomach, and for the first time am looking forward to the awkwardness that is the locker room and lots of adult female nudity with my 2-year-old who has no filter. I'd take a "why do I see that Mommy's nipples?" over 30 minutes of screaming in the pool any day.
*Lesson #3, Felix's teeth chattering stopped for 10 seconds when he honed in on someone out of the pool with a sucker. He was all, "IS THAT A LOLLIPOP?" After I provided him confirmation, he started chattering again.
You all...I expected the first lesson to stink.
And thought that the second one he would do a little better, in fact.
Third time's a charm, right?
Third lesson was just about as bad as the first two, except now all the other parents know my name, Felix's name, and have seen me in a Speedo with a poorly manicured bikini line.
Miles starts next week. In a class of strangers.
Without the death grip of a parent.
I need a hug.