Parent’s Day at the pool

Today is “Parent’s Day” at the boys’ swimming lessons. I hate Parent’s Day, I really do.

I think I’m a fairly participatory parent, as far as swim lessons go. I don’t bring a book or wait in the lobby. Nope, once a week, I’ll perch on an inevitably damp bench and sit in 900% humidity, paying careful attention for the sporadic occasions when one of them looks over so I can throw them my most enthusiastic thumbs-up and encouraging smile.

But why, oh why, do I have to get wet? Why can’t I just sit on my damp bench and sweat in peace? I’m happy to listen to whatever the teacher has to say, to reinforce the lessons whenever possible and offer ample opportunities for practicing the week’s lesson at whatever pool we’re lucky enough to inhabit during the week. But really, do I have to get into the pool?

I remember Tristan’s first set of independent swimming lessons… I’d (gasp!) forgotten it was Parent’s Day on lesson five, and was so mortified to be without a bathing suit when we arrived that I almost jumped in in my jeans. (I was such a pleaser back then.)(I’ve so gotten over that now.)(Mostly.)

No such luck this time around. The boys are beside themselves, torqued beyond the usual sky-high level of excitement, because today is Parent’s Day. (Simon already says Tuesday is his favourite day of the week, because it’s swimming lessons day. He said having me come in the pool is almost as exciting as Christmas. No chance I’m staying dry tonight.)

As if one Parent’s Day weren’t enough of a challenge, I’ve got concurrent Parent’s Days… I get to divide my half hour between Tristan’s and Simon’s classes, in two different pools (luckily, in the same complex at least.) Beloved gets to stay home and put the baby to bed.

Tristan’s class is working on jumping off the 10m platform. I think I might accidentally spend most of the half hour with Simon’s class, practicing my back float.

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