Swimming Lessons

Oh - what a lesson they were. A lesson in patience more like it.

Emma was a champ - she loves the water. Swimming is old hat to her. She knows the routine, we give the front desk our card, we go to the locker room, she picks out a locker and puts her stuff in it, gets on her suit and she is ready to roll.

Evan, not so much. He has been to the Y with us before and we attempted lessons before, but a scheduling mis-hap occurred and his class was cancelled. But, he LOVES the Y. He loves the gym. He will stand outside the door to the gym pointing, jumping, screeching and yelling "MA BALL"! BALL!!" and will try to get in. Not so good when I need to steer him around the gym to get to the pool. I think the gym is the downfall to Evan's success at swimming lessons. It was a struggle from the start. Just to get Emma ready for lessons was a struggle with Evan's need to go to the gym. He would not stay by me to help Emma get ready. He was constantly running from me, pushing at me when I would try to hold him, whatever he could to get away from me to go and play with the basketballs. argh....

Finally, Emma was in the pool and splashing away and having a grand old time. Evan, finally was in his heaven - the gym. He runs as fast as his little legs can carry, almost falling head over legs because he is pushing that fast. I worry about him with the other people in there shooting hoops, but I always try to position myself in front of him so he doesn't get hit. He runs after the balls, grabs one, and hoists it up and towards the hoop. Then, he runs after another one and does the same thing over and over again. He cannot get enough. Unfortunately, he had to have enough because his time in the pool was fast approaching. He did not want to leave... for anything! It was a big fuss when we left. It was a bigger fuss to change him into his suit. I was torturing him!! Man... it was brutal. He wanted to go in the pool at first, but he did not want ANYTHING to do with group activities. He wanted everything on his own terms. Then, the pouting came... and then the crying.. and then the "Mama! Mama! Ball! Ball!" Finally after 15 minutes of him refusing to do anything that sort of resembled swimming or blowing bubbles or kicking, we left. Much to my embarrassment, my frustration, my "I am never doing this again with this kid" we left. Let's just say Tim and I had a long conversation that night of our game plan for this week.

Wish me luck.