Swim or Die

I can’t handle my kids. They are faster than me, sneakier than me and have made a pact never to stay together when attempting to escape the wrath of momma. This isn’t a shock. I haven’t ever in his whole life been able to handle The Kraken, and ever since The Siren went mobile more than 2 years ago chaos reins at my home, local grocery store, van, backyard, neighbor’s house, church . . . basically wherever we haven’t yet been forcibly removed and banned. The list of places we may spend our day grows continuously shorter.

Due to a lack of venues we were allowed to enter, in a moment of rare brilliance, I decided to try taking my kids swimming. Instantly the speed factor was tipped in my favor. I may not be able to outrun The Kraken, but I can certainly out doggie paddle him! As it turns out, swimming is the perfect activity for this family. Certainly I cannot be outrun but there also isn’t much the kids can destroy in a swimming pool, splashing is expected and if I need to shout at my kids no one knows as the sound is drown out by this cool but loud waterfall feature. And so we swim at least twice a week, every week. And we have been doing so for about two years.

Needless to say, the kids are pretty decent swimmers. The Siren, for example, was evicted from her age range of swim classes a year ago because she had already “mastered the material.” She only has to wait one more month before she can try again as a 3 year old. The Kraken would be a level ahead of his age range if he would just stop throwing huge, earth shattering, running, screaming, tantrums during swim lessons. This was a new development this past summer. It was four weeks of super awesome and perhaps proof that I will never truly control anything. Whatever the case, the kid can swim. I don’t mean to brag. The poor monsters really didn’t have a choice. Honestly once I learned I could wear them out and keep them mostly in check, they had to swim or sit still to watch mommy swim. They both chose to swim.

My favorite morning activity is picking on lifeguards who have not yet had the privilege of watching my babies at work. Maybe it’s mean, but I take a small sort of pleasure in tossing my two year old princess into the deep end and watching the new lifeguard jump to his or her feet, whistle in mouth, blow-horn in hand, poised to rescue, only to realize I am perhaps not the worst mother ever to walk the planet. The Siren calmly swims to the side, laughs in delight and shouts “again momma!” The lifeguard usually gives me a look of confused displeasure before sitting down, not quite sure if it is yet safe to put down the blow-horn. In my defense, I’m not the only one who likes to pick on the rookies. The other lifeguards who know us very well, step out of the office to watch. I like to think I am providing a great service: we bring laughter to some while making sure the new guards are actually paying attention. Nothing wrong with that!

As for Miss Barb, the swim instructor The Kraken terrorized for a month last summer, we see her a couple times a week, and he believes she is a “wonderful teacher.” So will I be signing him up for lessons anytime soon . . . Nope! I can’t risk the tantrums because I choose to live under the delusion I have it all together and under control. At least for those two or three mornings a week in which we go to the pool.