Hushed

I have a confession.

I like to talk.

Surprising?

Okay, the truth is I like to talk ... a lot.

I always have something to say, and more often than not, I say it.

I'm that lady that says "bless you" when there's a sneeze in the room.

I'm that annoying voice that commiserates with the mom with the crying baby in line at the drugstore.

I make eye contact and say hello to strangers who hold doors open for me.

I can't help it, my mom is the same. I guess it's safe to say it's in my genes.

I have a hard time minding my tongue, especially in situations where I feel knowledgeable.

Have a question about how to teach your kid to read?

I'm your girl!

Interested in breastfeeding?

I can help.

Would you like your three year old to swim?

Let me reach into my bag of tricks and share.

It's hard for me not to say anything. At times this is a good thing, but there are times where I need to keep my big mouth shut.

Less is more.

I'm not always the one in charge, even though I often believe I could do a better job.

I need to show restraint.

I need to shut up.

She looks up to me as I sit on the stands, a few feet from the water's edge. Her blue eyes widen as her instructor guides her on her back.

"Like a starfish Mo."

She obeys.

Legs frantic, as the rest of her body stiffens, uncomfortable in the water.

Calm down, Baby. Just relax. It's no different than in the ocean. 

Her chest rises and falls quickly. The panic obvious. As she calms, her breathing relaxes and returns to normal.

Her body tight, strong, and flat, like the starfish she is attempting to replicate.

I knew you could do it Lovie. You are so strong and you don't realize it. Keep going! Keep going!

Climbing back onto the side, "Good job Mo" her teacher relays.

Looking back to me, she finds my eyes. I smile and give her two thumbs up. Turning around, she watches as another girl complete the same starfish.

As her turn comes around again, she is asked to swim on her front. The flotation bubble that had been her lifeline the past three sessions, has been abandoned. Now she is required to swim by herself.

The big eyes make their return.

Reach, kick, calm yourself down. Keep that kick strong and really reach Mo! 

Sliding in the safe way, she pushes off towards her instructor.

Reaching, kicking.
Reaching, kicking.

Making her way to the lane lines without much assistance. She is doing it. She is swimming independently.

Wooohooo! Watch out Missy Franklin, here come's Mo. You're awesome kid! Awesome!

Turning around she heads back. The same frantic, panic look on her face, the same eyes the size of saucers, but her arms and legs, strongly paddling and kicking their way back to the safety of the wall.

"Good job Mo!" the instructor casually mentions as she makes her way to the next girl in line.

This was the first time she's done this! She's never made it that far by herself before. Don't you realize this is a monumental milestone. 8.11.12- the day Mo swam independently from the wall to the lane lines. It's kind of a big deal, worth more than a randomly spoken, 'Good job'. It's a great job, a phenomenal job, an fantastic job. 

Pulling herself up on the gutter, she sits and watches for a moment. Turning around, she looks directly at me,
"Did you see me? Did I do a good job?" she pleads.

If you only knew how proud I am of you right now. I want the crowd to give you a standing ovation. 

"Great job, now pay attention!" I say.

The class continues. Mo pays attention...most of the time, occasionally conversing with the girls on either side of her. (Like mother, like daughter).

Raising her hand, she answers questions. She volunteers to go first, again and again. She tries. She swims. She floats. She kicks and then she readies herself for the jumps.

Looking back to me, I wink. My support nonverbal for a change.

Reaching her arms out to the instructor in the water, she does a double take before she is able to subside her hesitations and throws her body towards the instructor with reckless abandon. Under she sinks, and then pops up, those eyes show the fear, the excitement, the energy.

Kicking and pulling she makes her way back to the wall, and pulls herself up.

She repeats the action again and again for the last five minutes of class. Dismissing the class, the teacher offers, one last "good job today!", before the little bodies return to their respective families.

Wrapping the yellow towel around her saturated body, I squeeze her a bit.

"Are you so proud?" she asks.

You'll never know baby. Every day, every single thing you do, my heart swells with pride. Every little accomplishment has me swooning over you. You are simply awesome. I am in awe of what you've done today. 

But instead of compliment on top of compliment. I show some restraint today.

"Am I proud?" I ask. "So, so very proud, Mo! You did awesome!"

That's enough for the smile to take over her face.

I didn't have to say everything that came to mind. I can relax and let her go, let her be taught, and let her listen to someone other than me. I can say less. I can be an observer.

I can let my silence speak for itself.

Tiger Mom in Training

Once upon a time I spent every day in a bathing suit.

From the age of fourteen through twenty, I spent six days a week in or around a swimming pool. Besides competitive swimming practice, my days were spent either as a lifeguard or teaching swim lessons. In that six year time period, I taught hundreds of people how to swim. Private lessons, group lessons, adult lessons, child lessons, I had done it all.

I knew it all.

Okay so maybe not it "all" but all one needed to be a really good swim teacher.

And then I had my own kids.

And I sucked.

I missed the window, so to be speak. That window of opportunity where my kid was filled with confidence and enthusiasm about the swimming pool.

Instead, I've got a hot mess!

Before Maeve's birth, I had enrolled Mo in parent child lessons. At under two years old, she loved swimming. Eagerly she would jump into my waiting arms, laughing and kicking, enjoying each moment.

Then it got to be too much. Having a newborn and a two year old, we put off swim lessons..

"We'll sign her up soon" we both promise.

One year passes and then another.

In the bath, just after the new year, she plays with her sister as usual, and I sit on the floor beside the tub.

"Put your face in a bit!" I instruct.

"No mommy. I no like it!" she barks. "I no like swimming!"

"Of course you do" I say, "Don't you want to go swimming in a pool?"

"No. I NO LIKE SWIMMING." her voice echoes through the bathroom this time.

"Hey Bry," I call, "Come in here for a sec. Mo has something to tell you."

Tears stream down her face as he enters the bathroom. Her breathing labors as she cries, "I no want to go swimming. I no like swim lessons. I not going to go!"

Way to go Jackie! Parent of the year over here!

Without delay, that night we join the Y, and enroll Mo in beginner swim lessons, which start the very next Monday.

As the weeks pass, her confidence builds as she becomes relaxed in the water, even finding confidence to jump in during the last class. Her well seasoned teacher is a Godsend, and Mo loves Miss T.

In the next session we find Mo's teacher to be a high school aged guy (Mr.B), who, Miss T confesses is only teaching his second session independently.

Wonderful!, I think, Let's hope he doesn't lose all the great stuff Mo got from Miss T.

Surprise, he is wonderful! Mo likes him, and he gives her just the right amount of support and instruction. I'll eat crow on that one.

As the session is coming close to an end, B gives recommendations to parents for the upcoming class sign ups. Glancing quickly, I notice Pike 1 is scrawled in pen.

No big deal.  It's only been two sessions, and my money's on the 2020 Olympics anyway.

I'm about to leave, ushering the toweled wrapped girls off the pool deck when B. makes his mistake.

Instead of leaving well enough alone, he catches my attention, stuttering a bit says, "Well I have Mo down for Pike 1. She's pretty close to being ready for Pike 2. We'll just see how she does these next two weeks, and then we can decide for next semester. She's pretty close you know."

Huh?

I have little time to digest this information before Mo begins squealing into my ear, "Panera! Panera! Panera! Panera please?" as Maeve tugs my leg, reaching her arms up for me hold her.

We have a problem here.

Apparently B. isn't familiar to the logistics of swim lesson sign ups.

Remember those concerts that sell out within minutes, leaving would be buyers thinking what just happened?

Sign up for swim lessons is exactly like that.

First come, first serve baby. I can't be waiting two weeks for my kid's instructor to decide whether she's in Pike 1 or Pike 2.

The early bird gets the worm, or in our case the most ideal class time, so Mama's got to make some big decision here.

As it is Sunday night, sign up's begin on Monday, which gives us one night to decide where to put Mo.

That night, after the girls are sleeping, I broach the subject with Bry. Filling him in with the brief conversation with B, the paper, and my own professional opinion of the situation.

"Well, sounds like we should sign her up for Pike 1 again." he starts. "I mean, this way she'll be comfortable and everything."

"Really?" I say.  "I definitely was thinking Pike 2."

"But B said, she's close, not there all the way yet. I wouldn't want her to hate it, you know? It's only been two sessions." he continues.

"Ah, she'll do fine!' I say confidently.

"Jac, she's only four. It's no big deal". he finishes. "We'll sign up later tonight".

"I guess you're right." I concede. "Pike 1 it is then."

And then like good parents everywhere, later that night,

we forget.

Two days later, I wake in a panic. My heart is beating fast, and a cold sweat has broken out over my brow.

I shove Bry awake. "We forgot to sign up the girls for swimming. We're going to get stuck with some crappy time!"

Getting downstairs a few minutes later he pulls the website on the computer.

"Saturday at nine, right?  for both girls, right?  This way it'll be easy for all of us." he asks.

"Sounds like a plan" I say.

"Um," he coughs, "We got a problem. Pike 1 is full."

"Is Pike 2 open?" I ask, making sure my eyes meet his.

"Well, yeah. But I thought.." he starts.

"Don't think. Sign her up for Pike 2." I assert. "She'll be fine."

"I'm holding you personally responsible if the shit hits the fan on this one" he says, securing Mo a space in the Pike 2 class.

"She'll be awesome." I say, "I just know it:"

Saturday morning comes and she is awesome.

For the record, it was me who never had any doubts that it would be any other way.


Time to get your read & vote on! Yeah Write #56 is in effect!

Lunch & a Swim

Sitting down on the bench, I didn't want to look lonely, I didn't want to come across desperate, too eager for company, so nonchalantly I stumbled through the contents of my purse. Finding my NON smart phone, I cleared my text bank, contemplating what to do next. I decided to send a text to a friend inquiring about their recent concert experience to see Fresh Beat Band.

Looking up just as she walked in. Professionally attired; black jacket, purple blouse, with a professional pin on her lapel holding the folder in her arm. Adjusting my Lands End rain coat, on the sunny day, our smiles meet. It has been sometime since I last saw Amanda, but since the inception of Facebook our friendship has been rekindled.

Working for the wonderful world of Non-Profit Public Relations, a recent fundraising campaign included swimming has been her most recent project. To my surprise, an email had been sent asking me to meet to pick my brain for ideas.

I will admit, I was hesitant at first mainly because it has been just under four years since I last used my brain.

Okay, that's not completely true.

Sure, I use my brain daily.  In the realm of parenthood, decisions need to made over which toy would be less annoying for the Easter baskets or how long is it appropriate to let a child cry it out in their crib when they obviously are exhausted but continue to cry.

Other times, I flex this muscle (it's a muscle right?) as I search for the perfect words to formulate my posts here, be it relaying a particularly funny antidote or completing a weekly writing prompt. Writing and editing has exercised portions of the brain.

But outside these two realms, I fear that those portions of my brain that I used in the working world might have turned into grey mush and died.

What different worlds Amanda and I now live.

She the professional, running from office to event. Teaching undergraduate courses, and networking with important people.

Me the full time mom. Pulling up in the minivan littered with stuffed animals and lollipop wrappers. Running from swim lessons to doctors appointments, and talking it out at the playground.

I would be lying if I didn't admit I was worried that this lunch would be a huge failure.

That since my tenure as competitive swimmer had long since ended, I would not be able to help.

That we would sit there, staring at each other after the initial "How are you?" talk was over, waiting for the food.

That my time as a mom had negatively impacted my ability to adequately converse with someone over a topic outside of motherhood.

I feared I no longer resembled the person I was when I graduated college nearly twelve years ago.

Alas, we sat.
We talked.
We shared.
We laughed for nearly two hours.

All those reservations I had worrying that I had lost the person I used to be slowly dissolved over the course of our lunch.

That person who would leave the house at seven in the morning and not return until eight at night after commuting, teaching, graduate school and the commute home is long since gone. In her place stands me of now. The woman who plans ridiculous birthday parties, takes day trips to the beach, and spends close to every waking hour with her children. And apparently, unless Amanda was just feeding me bullshit, helped her out with this fundraiser.

It seems that my brain isn't completely mush after all.

Looking for something to do for the greater good this summer?

What about Swim For MS

Sponsored by the Multiple Sclerosis Association of America

Big Jump!

Mo has had this fear of jumping in. Two weeks ago I wrote about her hesitation, here as we showed up a week early for the new session of swimming. Apparently, her mantra worked, as tonight she jumped....twice!

Take note as she swam back to the wall, that lower lip extended out quivering. As she reached her destination she burst into tears. Not injured in anyway, I think she was emotionally overwhelmed by her accomplishment.

Way to go Mo!

Timing is everything

"I promise I will jump in Mama!" Mo's voice repeats the phrase again.

It has been her personal mantra this past week since her last swim class. Willing herself to do it. Attempting to gather her courage and make that leap off the side into the waiting arms of her swim instructor.

She's not usually like this.

In the nearly four years of her life, physical activities have been quite easy for her. Walking before nine months, (I do not exaggerate)jumping with two feet off the ground before her second birthday, and at soccer clinic this past fall, being mistaken for a five year old as she threw shoulders and dribbled the ball like the best of them.

She's good at physical things.

Swimming is different.

She has to work at it, and I don't think she likes that.
Bryan's DNA taking over there. 

With her first session of swim lessons behind her, confidence in the water has slowly been gained. No longer does that half frozen smile seem pasted on her face, as her visibly tense shoulders and arms cling to Miss Theresa for dear life. Instead, she kicks with strong legs, paddles her arms left and right, and amazingly at the last lesson this session even put her entire face in the water, on multiple occasions.

Maeve is a different story.

This kid loves the water, almost to a fault.

On one of the first classes I made the mistake of trying to slide in down the ladder while she sat on the wall waiting. In the time it took me to descend those three stairs, she had stood up and jumped in. Luckily, my cat like reflexes were able to pull her up before any permanent drowning occurred.

Imagine the lifeguard having to intervene during a parent child swim class?
Only me. Only me.

As the ten weeks came to an end, our Monday night ritual had been too much for me, alone. Undressing, suiting up three bodies, in the water it was Maeve and I together, while Mo swam with her teacher. Bathroom breaks in a sopping wet bathing suit, returning back to the water trying to keep everyone alert and paying attention to their respective teachers, then showering, dressing after.

It wiped me out!

So, as enrollment became open for the new session, it was decided that we would switch to what we would hope would be the leisurely pace of a Sunday early evening class. Since it's Sunday, Bryan would be home!

I was swept away thinking of how fabulous it will be to have an extra set of hands to help, that extra body in the water with Maeve so I could actually watch Mo, that I overlooked a major issue.

We piled into the minivan, all six of us. Bags packed with bathing suits, swim diapers, and towels as Grammie & Popsie eagerly awaited seeing their grand babies swim.

Sitting in the back row, I began talking, "Remember Mo, this is a new session, so Miss Theresa might not be your teacher."

"It's okay Mama!" she said, "I still gonna jump, right Popsie?"
"Oh Mo," he began, "you're so brave! I know you can do it!"
"Jac, we're making good time!" Bry started. "You know next week we don't have to leave so early."
"It's okay!" I said. "Better to be early then late."
"Grammie, I'm gonna jump!" her mantra continues. "Will you be proud?"
"Oh Mo!" she gushes, "Of course! You're the best kid in the whole wide world! Popsie and I can't wait to see you swim!"

Pulling into the parking lot, the clock grants us a seventeen minute reprieve. Plenty of time to undress, suit up, hit the bathroom before swim lessons.

Bryan disappears into the men's locker room as my mom follows the girls and I into the ladies room. Having that extra set of hands is a dream, as we quickly and without fight get everyone ready for swim lessons.

Onto deck with march, our six pack, ready for the day.

Ten minutes to spare. Apparently this new day and time will be grand!

"I'm gonna jump, Daddy!" Mo says, looking up to him as she grabs his hand. "You gonna watch me do it?"
"I'll be right in the water next to you dude," he says. "I'll see it! I promise!"

Eight minutes until time, as the class before begins their final jumps.

As a toweled child walks by with their parent, I notice a piece of paper in their hand.

Could it be? I think.
No. It's not a certificate.
Not a completion certificate.

It's the first day of class, so why would they have these papers?

Five minutes until class time.

Miss Becky, Maeve's instructor from last session walks by, a smile on her face as Maeve waves frantically.

"Hi Maeve!" she says.

"Hi!" Maeve nervously mutters then smashes her face into my thigh.

"Sorry we had to switch classes, " I begin. "It just will be easier on Sundays since my husband is here".

Her smile wanes.

"You know the new session starts tomorrow right?" she asks. "Today is the last day of this session."

"You got to be kidding me!" Bry says, between eye rolls.

"Seriously?" I ask.

"YEAAAAHHHH!!" Mo cannot contain her glee, as she looks to Popsie, "I don't got to jump in today, Pops!"

Her excitement is plastered all over her face.

"That sucks!" I say.

Becky offers a "Sorry" while walking away.

"Well, I guess no swimming today." I say. "I guess we'll be back next week!"

"No pool?" Maeve asks. Her eyes begin to tear.

"Sorry, Shine. Mama and Daddy messed up!"

"No kick, no pool? Swim!" she says again, this time between tears.

My heart breaks as Bry says, "Daddy got it all screwed up! How about we go to the noodle store?"

"NO, POOOOOOLLLL!" she is heartbroken, as she throws her swim suited body on the wet pool deck.

Meanwhile, Mo has already gotten my mom to bring her back into the locker room.

"Grammy, next week I'm gonna jump in!"

Sure, Mo.

Next week.


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