We Live in a Fantasy World

We went to the pool today. After seven summers of making the trip to and from the pool and beach, I think I have finally mastered the art of packing the pool bag. This is a fine art that takes years to master. Only the very best can remember to pack a salty snack, a fruit snack, a granola snack, drinks, goggles, earplugs, swimtoys, water balls, sunscreen, towels, and an extra toy or two. I may have done it today, but I am making no promises that the magic of packing the perfect pool bag will materialize ever again.

Yesterday the boys played in the sprinkers because I still live in a fantasy world and tell myself that I can get our yard in tip top shape without the help of a professional, and I spent an hour spreading ironite and fungicide over mounds of sand with tiny sprouts of something that resembles half dead grass. After all of this, I ran the sprinklers. The boys were in the middle of it playing Ben10 with no worries about the iron pellets plastered to their feet and bellies. After five summers of watching the boys morph into aliens, I am betting this is the last summer that they play Ben10 together in the sprinklers. Evan has even put all five of his real Ben10 watches aside and uses his wristband to call on the alien of choice. It can double as a Ben10 watch, and it is so much more cool than the actual watch. You can wear it and everyone will assume it is just a wristband. Only I know better. I think this is why he is so concerned with wearing his wristband on the soccer field; he thinks he can call on Four Arms for an extra boost when in need. 

He, too, lives in a fantasy world. Only his seems much more entertaining.

Swim Boys!

We have had considerable trouble with getting the boys into swim lessons and/or enrolled with a swim team. However, we had another family recommend the local rec dept swim program, and we enrolled. Today was the first lesson, and this is what we experienced.

No blue square leg swim trunks required.

No goggles allowed.

Little to no instruction provided.

Sixteen year old "instructor" yells in frustration multiple times during lesson, "Float! Float! I don't know why boys can't float!"

Multiple jumps off the diving board into the deep end "just for fun."

I should have known I was in trouble when I approached the swim director with my Swim Kids cards from Virginia that showed my boys' current swim levels and skills. Because with a quick glance, the elderly director replied, "That's nice, Ma'm, but I am a certified swim instructor, and I will assess your boys prior to placement."

Then the assessment was this: "Swim Boys!"

I miss Swim Kids in Virginia where the ugly blue square leg trunks are required and goggles are encouraged. I don't know what I expected after only paying $25 per boy here in Georgia, but it was definitely more than what I am getting. Like swimming.

However, as the boys dried off at the end of their first lesson, both exclaimed, "THIS WAS AWESOME, MOM! THIS IS SO MUCH BETTER THAN SWIM KIDS!!!"

Well of course it was, Guys. You just had a play date in water instead of swim lessons.