I got a few comments here and there since Friday asking for an update on Sprite's swimming lessons. I thought I would add a quick snatch of how the lesson went in yesterday's RTT, but tangents got in the way and it became it's own long winded post, instead of a long winded paragraph. So, sorry. And you're welcome for sparing you from its wind on Tuesday.. (I care.)
Saturday was busy enough as it was. We began with a birthday party which we literally ate and ran from just to get to the YMCA's pool in time. Poor kid was asking for her share of the birthday cake along the way as I had been teasing her all week about how she would be able to sing "Happy Birthday" to someone other than "Friend" (which is usually what she fills the name in with when she has the song in her head) and get in on some sugar action, and then we cut her good times short by throwing her some cheetos and pushing her out of the park's pavilion before she could sing for her sweets. (We know, we're mean.) But any sour mood she sported from our refusal to let her have any fun (I know! We're mean! Consider the motion approved.) lifted when we pulled into the parking lot and the pool came into viewing (and smelling) distance. I carried her over and as soon as she saw the bobbing blue, the chattering began.
"I see the water! See the water? Do you SEE it? I swimming? Mommy!" she slapped her hands on my cheeks and turned me to face her full on. "I swimming, Mommy? Yes?"
"Yes, you're going swimming, Sprite." I put her down in the shady area where parents and children were starting to stake out territory for their towels and such. Not even a second after her feet hit the floor, she bee-lined for the water.
"Oh, no. Not yet." John grabbed her and parked her on the bench table so I could attack her with the SPF, which she objected to. (Yeah, cry now, kid. Are you going to be thanking me later when you are skin cancer and burn free? Of course not!) (So ungrateful..) While John and I took turns getting into our water attire, we both dealt with her repeated efforts to gain access to the agua.
Eventually, the roster was called and the teacher, Ms. Carol, had everyone in the parent/child group (age 6-36 months) join her in the pool. As we walked toward the steps, I noticed most of the other parents still huddled under the shade acting like we were getting ready for the final oral reports in high school Speech class and no one wanted to be called first. Screw that, I thought. I need to get there before Sprite tries to dive in herself. The fifteen or so toddlers waded in with their parents and the tears started. Some whimpered. Some cried. Only Sprite cried with joy, her screams echoing off the water as she looked all around her, excited for the experience of being submerged.
The lesson itself was very informal, just parents getting the kids used to the water, maybe introducing them to kicking, working on climbing onto the wall to escape the water, blowing bubbles, CPR lessons for the toddlers, an Algebra pop quiz, you know, the usual beginner's stuff.
John and I swapped out regularly as we led Sprite around the shallow end, noticing that she wasn't really interested in kicking, raised an eyebrow at our clownish looks when we tried to teach her the blowing bubbles, and seemed to think she had a handle on this whole swimming thing herself as she kept trying to escape my clutches in the middle of the pool.
"I swimming," she would cry, then push away from me. Her head would then disappear for a count before I could reach in and bring her to the surface, where, you know, the AIR was. She would sputter for a few seconds, wipe the water from her eyes, smile big, and try again. (Well, at least she's not a quitter.)
The teacher made her rounds and is probably regretting making a left toward us instead of a right for another couple and their 9 month old son, who doesn't quite talk yet.
"Look, Sprite, it's Ms. Carol," I began, thinking it would be a good idea to directly introduce Sprite to her teacher who may or may not be ultimately responsible for traumatic chlorine swallows in her near future. (And I was totally prepared to point fingers when the blame game began.) I barely closed my mouth when Sprite launched herself right out of my arms and into her teacher's.
"Hi, Carol! I swimming! This is my mommy! My daddy," she shouted, pointing toward John, "and I have Tinker Bell!" Her hands slapped her chest in an effort to get the Tinker Bell picture emblazoned on her swimsuit into the conversation. "Carol, are you blue?"
Ms. Carol (poor Ms. Carol) looked at us for a second with a blank smile on her face. "How old is she?"
"Two and a half," I replied, smiling in the hopes that she would find Sprite's verbal assault cute.
"And why is she asking if I'm blue?"
"It's the color you have on. She just forgets to add 'wearing'."
Ms. Carol nodded and beamed at Sprite. "We're gonna be good friends this summer, aren't we?"
Ms. Carol, you have no idea.
The overwhelmed teacher took her for a few moves and complimented Sprite's willingness to climb out of the water and jump back in. She offered us some pointers on helping Sprite learn to kick, cuz, you know, that's important to swimming survival and stuff, and blow bubbles. "Just let her blow bubbles in the bathtub. (Um, Carol, do you know that we've been trying to stop her from swallowing bath water for a while now? And now we are to encourage it? Forget Sprite being confused. My hand is raised.)
Ms. Carol tried to pass Sprite back to me, ending our turn with her, but Sprite would have none of it, and all of Ms. Carol. She clung to the woman and cried, "No! I want Carol!"
"Honey," I coaxed, "MS. Carol needs to help other kids. She'll come back later." I finally disentangled Sprite from the instructor who swam away. "Let's work on climbing out, okay?" I waded over to the wall and released Sprite who grabbed for the ledge.
She no sooner lifted her tushy to rest on the step when she started shouting, "Carol! Hey, Carol! Come here, Carol!"
John intervened. "Sprite, she's busy. Here! Come jump into Daddy's arms!"
Sprite didn't acknowledge him as she continued calling out for her new friend. "Carol! Carol! GET BACK HERE, CAROL!"
"Sprite, use your indoor voice." (Yes, I know we were outside. Trust me, I felt stupid saying it, but was pulling at strings to get her voice lowered. And the acoustics on the water's surface? Gives the term "voices carry" a whole new meaning.)
The rest of the lesson sped by with us alternately playing spotter to Sprite in the water and keeping Carol out of harm's (Sprite's) way.
Finally, we noticed the shady area becoming very crowded and realized we were alone in the pool. Sprite tried to stretch out on the ledge despite our requests to leave.
"Go way, Sprite sleeping. Come back later." She turned her head away from me as she tried to lay down on her tummy in the inch of water on the step.
The teacher made her way over. "Hey there, Sprite! It's time to go! Don't you want to go?"
Sprite looked up at Ms. Carol and smiled. "I sleeping."
"Well, that's not very comfortable on that concrete. Why don't you let Mom and Dad get you dry and warm? We'll see you back here next week, okay?"
Sprite slowly released her grip on the aquatic dream and let us reel her in.
As we walked back over to the tables for our things, Carol came over and softly said, "She's going to be one of my more memorable students this summer, huh?"
Sprite lifted her head off my shoulder and grinned that toddler watt smile.
Ms. Carol, you have no idea...
