Little Bits of Pixie Dust

Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, martini in the other, body thourougly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO, what a ride!!"

Thursday, May 23, 2013

Last week was C.'s last swimming lesson (to no one's surprise, he difinitively did NOT pass the level that he was in, and the teacher actually looked really sorry to tell me that he probably needed to go down two levels, but I'm okay with that because he is obviously taking after his mother in the being good at sports department.) so with it being his last time A* decided that he would like to come and watch his precious boy in the water. He hadn't been able to come due to work commitments and some other stuff before, so A* had never witnessed the lessons.

I know I told you that C. was awful, but I don't know if I mentioned the fact that he is absolutely terrified the entire time that he is there.  Terrified, yet having fun, which doesn't make one bit of sense to me but whatever, he was always REALLY excited to go and REALLY proud of himself when he was done.  Anyway, he basically tells the teacher that he doesn't want to do whatever it is that she's asking him to do, she coaxes and encourages, and eventually he will sort of halfway do what she's asking, the whole time clutching her arms in a death grip.  He stands at the side of the pool and literally shakes, out of fear or excitement or some combination of the two.  I have asked him before if it is just too much for him, if he wanted to keep doing it, and he looked at me like I was crazy and assured me that swimming lessons are his favorite thing ever and he never wants to stop going.  So I shoved my motherly protective insticts down my throat every Saturday morning and let the boy swim.

But I guess I didn't convey to A* exactly how he was, and A* seriously LOST HIS SHIT.  C. started trembling and A* slid to the edge of his seat, a hand hovering uselessly in the air like he was about to pat him or scoop him up or something.  I reassured A* that this happened every week.  He stayed on the edge of his seat.  C. finally entered the water and then A* started "encouraging".  I'm all about it, I tell him what a good job he's doing all the time, but not while the teacher is instructing an entire class.  "GOOD JOB, C.!" A* yelled loudly, and five wet heads turned to look at C.'s weird daddy.  I hissed at him to wait until the teacher was done talking, and A* got all huffy and said he was just trying to make him FEEL better, my God do you torture the child like this every week?  At one point during the lesson the teacher was taking the kids one by one down the pool while they floated on their backs.  Please know that not once did the teacher let go or remove her hand from the child's back.  When it was C.'s turn, he of course told her that he didnt' want to do it, she told him it would be fun, and he reluctantly put the very back of his head in the water and went on down the pool.  At one point he sat up, eyes bulging, probably to see how far it was back to the wall, and I had to physically restrain A* from jumping into the water fully clothed and saving his PRESSSHHHIOUS BABY BOY.  You know, because the liscensed teacher and the six lifeguards probably couldn't handle it. 

After the lesson was over, A* let out a huge breath of air, wrapped C. in a towel and held him close.  C. pulled away and said, "Mommy, can I come back tomorrow?" And A*'s head exploded.  I don't think he will be attending any more lessons in the near future.  God help us if the kid ever wants to play a contact sport.


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