Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Monday, April 16, 2012
Just Keep Swimming
Here's a little update on how the lil' dude is doing in her swimming lessons- you know, the third time she's been enrolled in this same level.
(Recap? First time, did magnificently entire course. Would not test out on finals day. When I asked my teeny blond daughter why she didn't listen to her instructor on that particularly important day, she answered, Because I didn't want to. Enrolled her again, she did even more magnificently. This included the tiny sprite of a thing shimmying/kicking/paddling her way down the length of a college, regulation-sized pool and back with a water noodle. I thought we had graduation on lock. Upon the final day, the instructor and aquatics director met with us and said while yes, she passed, at three she was just too little to graduate to the next class with first graders as the average aged swimmers. So passing was an epic fail).
That was a long recap!
So here we are, spring of 2012, in Advanced PreK swimming lessons for the third time.
We missed the first Saturday. Someone was drinking Caribou and watching Pioneer Woman's cooking show with her Fairy Godmother instead of Speedo-ing up.
The second week of class, my girl sauntered into class 7 minutes late (some one's mother was waiting for her coffee to finish percolating at home) and said hello to every instructor, lifeguard and parent in the complex as she made her way to the shallow end. It was like watching the badass who flunked 9th grade return to the classroom in the fall, in his rebel motorcycle jacket smelling like Marlboros. All cavalier.
Always at the end of each class, the kids can stand on the edge of the pool and wait to jump off at instruction. Parents stick to the walls with towels, waiting to claim their fish. The lil' dude moved as far down the edge as she could, distancing herself from her three classmates, requesting to jump last. Lips blue, flesh goosebumping, she waited her turn.
And when it was, my daughter did a 360* into the pool.
I immediately looked to the stands to make eye contact with the Dad. He had a big ol' shit-eatin' grin on his face.
Oh, no she didn't.
When my Olympian surfaced, the instructor grabbed her and told her she is not supposed to do jumps or flips off the edge, ever. She could very well hit her head or smash her face on the way in.
As she paddled for the ladder, the lil' dude said, Yeah, well, I didn't!
I have a feeling we won't be revisiting this particular level of swimming lessons for a fourth time.
And when the aquatics director emailed us this weekend with some scheduling changes as well as her notice of leaving the program, I wondered what, or which blond four-year-old, was her true motivation for abandoning post ...
Just keep swimming.
(Recap? First time, did magnificently entire course. Would not test out on finals day. When I asked my teeny blond daughter why she didn't listen to her instructor on that particularly important day, she answered, Because I didn't want to. Enrolled her again, she did even more magnificently. This included the tiny sprite of a thing shimmying/kicking/paddling her way down the length of a college, regulation-sized pool and back with a water noodle. I thought we had graduation on lock. Upon the final day, the instructor and aquatics director met with us and said while yes, she passed, at three she was just too little to graduate to the next class with first graders as the average aged swimmers. So passing was an epic fail).
That was a long recap!
So here we are, spring of 2012, in Advanced PreK swimming lessons for the third time.
We missed the first Saturday. Someone was drinking Caribou and watching Pioneer Woman's cooking show with her Fairy Godmother instead of Speedo-ing up.
The second week of class, my girl sauntered into class 7 minutes late (some one's mother was waiting for her coffee to finish percolating at home) and said hello to every instructor, lifeguard and parent in the complex as she made her way to the shallow end. It was like watching the badass who flunked 9th grade return to the classroom in the fall, in his rebel motorcycle jacket smelling like Marlboros. All cavalier.
Always at the end of each class, the kids can stand on the edge of the pool and wait to jump off at instruction. Parents stick to the walls with towels, waiting to claim their fish. The lil' dude moved as far down the edge as she could, distancing herself from her three classmates, requesting to jump last. Lips blue, flesh goosebumping, she waited her turn.
And when it was, my daughter did a 360* into the pool.
I immediately looked to the stands to make eye contact with the Dad. He had a big ol' shit-eatin' grin on his face.
Oh, no she didn't.
When my Olympian surfaced, the instructor grabbed her and told her she is not supposed to do jumps or flips off the edge, ever. She could very well hit her head or smash her face on the way in.
As she paddled for the ladder, the lil' dude said, Yeah, well, I didn't!
I have a feeling we won't be revisiting this particular level of swimming lessons for a fourth time.
And when the aquatics director emailed us this weekend with some scheduling changes as well as her notice of leaving the program, I wondered what, or which blond four-year-old, was her true motivation for abandoning post ...
Just keep swimming.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Friday, April 6, 2012
Besties From the Block
The lil' dude is growing up with her best friend living directly across the street from her, their driveways are perfectly aligned.
Born six weeks apart and acting like sisters ever since, it' been one of my greatest pleasures in life watching these two ladies grow up together, all sweaty blond hair and overly applied sparkly lipgloss and sweaty, clutching hands.
Something pretty big happened in the neighborhood under last weekend's sunshine:
These babies crossed the street together, alone. Free of parental supervision.
Granted, each Mama was on her own front porch, hollering directions and wringing hands in worry and disbelief.
That our firstborn, our darling daughters are capable of such a feat. The two who used to swap Nukkies and share blankies and sleep forehead to forehead on big king sized beds when their parties were over.
Born six weeks apart and acting like sisters ever since, it' been one of my greatest pleasures in life watching these two ladies grow up together, all sweaty blond hair and overly applied sparkly lipgloss and sweaty, clutching hands.
Something pretty big happened in the neighborhood under last weekend's sunshine:
These babies crossed the street together, alone. Free of parental supervision.
Granted, each Mama was on her own front porch, hollering directions and wringing hands in worry and disbelief.
That our firstborn, our darling daughters are capable of such a feat. The two who used to swap Nukkies and share blankies and sleep forehead to forehead on big king sized beds when their parties were over.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Four Foot Fashion
I was commiserating with my Mama friend this week about daughters who have a say ... too much say ... in their Mother's personal style. Last week the lil' dude told me I wear scarves too much; that she was tired of that particular look.
That's harsh, man. She's only four!
Then I told my Mama friend what my kiddo was rockin' that very day to preschool- a pastel green and yellow maxi dress, navy blue striped tights, a cream, ruffled long-sleeved t-shirt, and silver sparkly Toms spattered with orange paint. Judge on, tiny judger, lest you not be judged!
I'm back to wearing scarves on the near daily.
In the mean time, my four foot fashionista is rockin' ensembles like this on the daily:
Gopher sweats. Syracuse tee. Pink fancy shoes. Mama's work gloves. And her iPod. Nary a care in the world.
That's inspiration at its finest.
That's harsh, man. She's only four!
Then I told my Mama friend what my kiddo was rockin' that very day to preschool- a pastel green and yellow maxi dress, navy blue striped tights, a cream, ruffled long-sleeved t-shirt, and silver sparkly Toms spattered with orange paint. Judge on, tiny judger, lest you not be judged!
I'm back to wearing scarves on the near daily.
In the mean time, my four foot fashionista is rockin' ensembles like this on the daily:
Gopher sweats. Syracuse tee. Pink fancy shoes. Mama's work gloves. And her iPod. Nary a care in the world.
That's inspiration at its finest.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
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