Michael used to hate to swim. I mean hate it. He screamed and cried at swim lessons so much that I had to pull him out more times than I could count. And at some point, in the last two years, he stopped. He stopped, and then, started to not hate it. He started to not hate it so much, we joined our local swim club. And our local swim club came with the neighborhood swim team, as every local suburban swim club does.
Our swim club is hard core about our swim team. We are Division A and we take are swim team very, very seriously. (I take swim team a little less seriously, but you know.)
Michael LOVES SWIM TEAM. I mean, he loves it. He gets all crazy hard core about it. He knows ALL THE SWIM TEAM CHEERS. He always wants to go to swim team practice. He was upset the one weekend we were out of town and he couldn’t swim an A meet and I don’t even want to discuss the fact that we are out of town of next week. (I, um, haven’t exactly told him yet.)
Michael’s a good swimmer. I’m under no disillusions that he is going to the Olympics, but for 8, he’s FAST for his age. He’s long and lean. The most important thing for me though, is that he likes it. He’s found something that he loves and that brings him joy. Today, when all I wanted in life was a stupid storm to hit so I wasn’t driving to another stupid swim meet, he was all, “COME ON MOM IT’S TIME TO GO.”
Michael loves to swim. And there are worse things for Michael to love to do. And so, my entire summer so far is the pool, hair frizz, humidity and all.
I apologize for the lack of blog posts. I love our pool, but their wifi is terrible.