Conquering the Deep End

If you've ever had one of your kids slip under the water in a pool when you're more than a foot or two away, then you know that feeling of awful panic.  One of my least favorite feelings in the world, to be sure.  It's what made going to the pool with three little kids less than enjoyable until my oldest figured out the basics last summer, and it's what made throwing down dinero on swim lessons more than worth it. 

Benito made a lot of progress this summer.  He learned freestyle, backstroke, and eventually started getting the hang of side-breathing.  The one thing that continued to elude him was the deep end.  I didn't really mind or push him about it, since I've had a few issues myself with kids in deep water.  Just ask my friend Alisa, who patiently sat next to me during last year's lessons while I had near panic attacks over my kid jumping into nine-foot water.  Totally irrational, I know, considering trained swim teachers were right there to help out if needed.  I just couldn't get past that old feeling of panic.  What if?  What if they turned their head and he sank right down to the bottom?

Anyway, the summer passed and he still took no interest in the other end of the pool.  I started to worry about it, and then the switch flipped for him.  He spent one lesson treading water in the deep end and something clicked.  The next day he was jumping off that diving board with abandon, as many times as they'd let him, not to mention swimming and playing in the nine-foot water like I'd never seen.  I couldn't believe it.  Now let's hope I'm over my fear of the deep end, too, so that when it's Eli's turn to jump off that diving board I'm not breathing into a paper bag or something!













Local shoe thief, trying on all the kids' shoes while they swam

 


Check out those swimming abs and arms

 

"My pony!"

After two boys with only the most basic of hair needs, I must confess I felt pretty excited to have some fun with longer locks.  I pictured myself sitting cross-legged on the floor, brushing and braiding my daughter's hair while she smiled and sang and said "Thank you, Mommy!"  I bought a bunch of cute, girlie, little hairclips and even tried my hand at making a few homemade ones.  I stocked up on ponytail holders, headbands, and ribbons, only to discover that my own girl wanted nothing to do with them. 

The first few times I tried sneaking a clip in Millie's hair, she screamed as she ripped it right out and threw it across the room.  Persistence and distraction had to be the trick, I thought, so I kept at it.  All those cute hair clips I bought and made for her?  Gone.  Lost around the house, tossed on the ground outside, kicked around the van, thrown out the window of the car, gone, gone, gone.  So much for my docile, dress-up doll of a daughter.  If only I had really paid attention to how stubbornly she refused, I would have noticed its foreshadowing of many power struggles to come (i.e. eating dinner, choosing clothes to wear, cleaning up, and everything else we've faced off on). 

Then came this week's miracle.  After months of unsuccessful cajoling and eventually having to accept the fact that my daughter's bangs are destined to rival Cousin Itt's, I watched Miss Millie start taking notice of the band holding my hair up.  Sure enough, once I explained my ponytail and showed her how it worked, she decided she wanted one too.  Victory!  I'm happy to report five days of successful "ponies," the last three at her own request.  "My pony!" has become part of her daily routine, and while I'm not thrilled that her favorite place for a pony is on top of her head, I'm learning it's a whole lot better than a face full of bangs. 



So much hair in the face she can't even see





Soon-to-be Cousin Itt, just up from her nap

 



Pony on top

 


Move over, Old Faithful, there's a new geyser in town!





Being her own paparazzi