There is no J in Pool.

This week I am coming to terms with the fact that swimming lessons is chock full of "growth opportunities" for me as a parent. Be that as it may, thus far I am not growing. My attempts at bribery, my idle threats, my disappointment, my gentle lectures - all of it means zip, zilch, nada, nothing and is getting that result.

You would think that the pool was filled with acid rain runoff. On our first day J hid, pouted and whined before saying he wanted me to "put him in." When I tried, he somehow managed to lift the entire bottom half of his body parallel to his shoulders and then wrap his legs around mine like a vise. Then came the yelling and the tears - his, although I was close. It was quite a scene, and while I am more than happy to provide entertainment ("The Amazing Contortions of the Boy Who Won't Swim") to all of the families of happily splashing children, I briefly considered tossing him into the deep end and driving home.

NT, my little water boy, has also been slow to warm up to the vast expanse of the pool and the strangers who are his teachers. Yesterday, while his $13, 30-minute swim lesson ticked by, he sat poolside on my lap. He was enthralled though, by the rubber "cack cack" (duck) and finally, he went for it. Then, his toe touched the three-inch deep waters of the first stair and in one movement his whole body retracted and turned and he was back in my lap. 

I have a few "beefs" with the teachers. From the beginning it was clear that there was one good one. She was easy to spot because she always had a cryer in her arms. She would get them settled and be handed another one. There are two good ones now, but the other two are hopeless. Good Teacher A even mouthed, "Engage them!" to the slackers today, but they were lost in space and didn't notice. I am sure part of my frustration lies in the fact that I used to do this same job, and I was good at it. I took pride in figuring out how to get the scared little Pollywogs (that was our beginner class) excited about and comfortable in the water. We had lesson plans, we got them wet and we used a zone defense to keep the water fear tears from spreading to the group. These lessons are not like that. At all. 

Sigh. I will write a letter to the manager. I will uncover a new level of patience. I will not push them to play out the happy picture of swimming lessons I had imagined. I will grow. Just for today though, I will cling to my fantasy of lounging poolside while my kids happily bob and bubble, crawl-stroke and back-float. They would emerge tired and float-worthy, I would wrap them in rainbow colored towels, feed them a snack and take us all home for naps. Sigh. Why does parenthood always have to be so REAL, when the fantasy is often so much better?