She's (Not) a Fish!

Ainsley took swimming lessons again this summer at the Delta College pool.  We go out to Delta for swimming lessons for two reasons:
1)  She's supposed to be in the Water Babies program which requires a parent to enter the pool.  I wasn't about to enter a pool in a bathing suit in my own town.  People KNOW me here.
2)  It has a fabulous splash area for play afterward.


So we signed the little rugrat up for Water Babies.  We were excited that she'd be one of the oldest ones.  She could show off how she could actually JUMP this year when asked to jump into the pool.  But then we got a call from the Delta staff telling us she was the ONLY child signed up for that particular Water Babies program.  Running at the same time, however, was the Preschool Aquatics class.  Would we like to try that out with her?


Hmmm.  She runs away from the teacher at dance class.  She has no idea how to take turns.  She won't enter the pool without holding on to a parent with a grip of death.  My answer:  sure.  It's summer.  What could possibly go wrong?


I wore my bathing suit (under my clothes, unbeknownst to Ainsley) to the first class just in case she had a fit and wanted me to get into the water.  I dropped Durham off at Grandma Brechtelsbauer's house just in case we had a complete meltdown.  We went potty a good five times before class started.  I gave her a big speech about getting cookies if she was a good girl.  She knew she was supposed to do this BY HERSELF.  Now we just had to cross our fingers and hope for the best.

She seems eager!  Hope this is a good sign.

Turns out the class only has one other student.  Her name was Olivia and she was almost five years old.  And she was SO EXTREMELY COOL.  It was like Ainsley was meeting a celebrity.  (For the next two weeks, her Barbies and dolls were all named Olivia.)  If Olivia could get into the water without her Mommy, then Ainsley could.  And only having one other student meant the teacher could really watch Ainsley to make sure she was focused (a two year old, focused?) on the task.

 The first activity of the day is duck hunting.  The girls throw ducks and frogs into the water and then fetch them.  The teacher, knowing that Ainsley was only two, held on to Ainsley the whole time to make sure she felt comfortable.  It seemed like things were going well!

The teacher then proceeded to abandon my sweet baby on the edge of the pool to take the other child across for a swim.  She wasn't wearing ANY safety equipment.  She was sitting on the edge of a pool that was deeper than her head!  It was all I could do to not run to her and pluck her up to sit on my lap.  To my surprise, Ainsley just sat there.  She didn't get up to run to Mama, she didn't play with the ducks behind her.  She was good.  Heaven be praised.  

Then it was Ainsley's turn to practice swimming with slightly more independence.  She was nonplussed by this.  Apparently, given the option of having someone carry you around the pool duck hunting or swimming with a marshmallow stick is presented, she would choose the former.

She then had to copy the actions of the teacher to form a chicken, star, and soldier.  This would help her learn a specific swim stroke.  Unfortunately, all this star-making is also wedgie-making.  

Then came another favorite part of swim class.  Red light, green light.  Olivia was exceptional at this game, and Ainsley was determined to keep up.  Green light was the signal to kick with all your might.  Red light meant to stop.  Blue light meant make bubbles.  The girls would giggle hysterically when Olivia would yell "PURPLE LIGHT", which apparently had no meaning.  Oh, the joys of being little.

After the "strenuous learning" portion of class, they would retire to the splash area for much sillier play.  After the first class, I knew she was fine and wouldn't need me to help her.  We had a few moments of panic when the teacher would want to try something new.  Ainsley's reaction to panic in any situation is the same.  She runs to Mom and desperately has to go to the potty.  I give her a pep talk while we're in the potty:  you need to be a good listener, do what the teacher says, I'll buy you cookies AND chocolate milk if you are a good listener.  And then we emerge from the potty ready to resume class.  This happened nearly every class, but hey, she's only two.  Here is her certificate that proves she "passed" and should take the same class again.  

Durham thought the whole thing was laughable, at best.  

After each class, Ainsley would retreat into the locker room, BEG to see the shower water go, get dressed, ask why the old women were naked, ask about every single sign we passed as we walked out of the building, hurriedly press the handicap door opening button, and then dawdle in the bike rack area as Durham and I strolled our way to the car.  It was cookies and chocolate milk after each lesson.  Who am I to deny any child cookies and chocolate milk?