Due to the city’s gushingly bleeding heart, thinking that increasing the two dollar fee for two weeks of swim lessons would break the poor’s back and therefore only had a handful of swim classes available, I didn’t get my boys into swim lessons yet this summer. Yes, I’m a little bitter. If you want, I’ll pull up a soap box to discuss why the city could raise it to five or ten dollars to hire more instructors and allow more kids the opportunity to learn to swim. But that’s not why I’m writing this post.
As I bemoaned the fact of no swimming lessons for my boys this year to an older cousin, she asked why I didn’t teach them. “I mean, Fae, weren’t you a swimmer in high school. Weren’t you a lifeguard?” Yes. No, that was T, but I could see how you can assume that. (Wasn’t this the year I was supposed to get my butt certified as a lifeguard for safety reasons? Crap, where’s that To-Do list?) Hmmm. Teach my boys to swim. I wonder if it’ll be like teaching Evan to write. Insert mental day dream here: A skinny, wet three year old running from his mommy screaming “No, no, no, stay away from me. Grandma, help me!” But that’s not why I’m writing this post.
So three weeks ago, I started taking the boys to my parents’ house earlier than normal to go swimming for an hour or so. I researched online about how to teach your kid to swim. Never has the chlorine betrayed me so much to damage my hair. But that’s not why I’m writing.
Three weeks ago, I took the boys swimming with my brother M. After we finished “swimming,” my brother mentioned he wanted to take us out for lunch. I began to gather up my wet flock.
Me: Evan, come on. You need to get dressed and go potty before we leave for Taco Bell.
Evan: I don’t have to go potty, Mommy!
Me: Evan. You drank tons of juice. I just want you to try.
Uncle M: Evan, tell your mommy you went pee in the pool like all guys.
Evan started giggling like a lunatic.
Me: (shooting my brother a dirty look) Evan, did you go pee in the pool?
Evan: I DID! I WENT PEE IN THE POOL!
Me: We don’t pee in the pool. We get out, go to the potty, and come back to swim more. Understand?
Uncle M: Fae, it’s what kids do. Don’t you remember peeing in the pool during swim lessons?
Me: No! That’s disgusting.
Evan: That’s disgusting! (returned to giggling like a lunatic)
Me: Thanks, M. Thanks a lot.
So what happened earlier shouldn’t have surprised us as much as it did.
My dad was helping me teach the boys to swim, which is now the new hobby. For some reason, Evan trusts his Papi more than me. Maybe it’s because Papi has less reason to drown Evan than I do, but that’s just nonsense. My dad would force me to dive from his shoulders as he stood on the diving board. My dad’s six foot one, and I’m terrified of heights. The SOB would grab me as I tried to dash into the safety of the house. I would never make my kid do something that scared the crap out of him just for fun.
Evan danced over to my dad who was sitting on the steps helping Sean kick, kick, kick. Evan giggled like a lunatic as he hung on to my dad. What tipped us off the giggling or the random hugging? Well, it was both, and it still took us a few minutes.
Papi: Evan! Are you peeing on me?
Evan: (giggling like a lunatic) YES!
Papi: Ugh! Get off me!
Then my dad playfully threw Evan near me. I pulled Evan up, holding him away from my body.
Me: Evan. We don’t pee in the pool. We don’t pee on people.
Evan giggled like a lunatic.
Being a lunatic myself, I believed that was enough discipline.
Until yesterday.
Evan was kicking around the pull in his ring, when he all of a sudden started kicking my way, giggling like a lunatic.
Evan: Mommy! I’m going to pee on you!
Being the intelligent mommy I am, I answered: You’ll have to catch me!
Thus I tired him out by swimming away from him, forcing him to kick on his stomach, reaching with his hands to grab me as I paddled away, barely out of reach.
I have a feeling Evan will be giggling like a lunatic later today.
Oh, and Sean. He waits until he’s out of the pool and then lets it go.
