Muji journal: check.
(volume...what? 6? 7?)
Summer reading: check
Thomas sandals: check
They're a little small, but whatever.
Boys, swimming: check
Where? Here. An easy 10 miles or so from our apartment.
We had been here once before, in January. Obviously not swimming, but to walk around a bit and visit the wildlife rehabilitation center. It was one of those moments in which Michael decided he needed exercise, and would take the boys to hike around a bit. It was a Sunday morning, I think (we had been to Mass on Saturday evening), and since this was his thing he liked to do with them, I initially thought I wouldn't go along. But then, thank God - and I mean, really - thank God - , I changed my mind. One more memory. A small one, but I'll take what I can get.
On the swimming, for those who have been following the saga, taking my shamefully non-swimming boys (my shame in not being more forceful on my end on getting them lessons) up to the present moment: The lessons are finished for now - private lessons I'd arranged here, with a teacher who proved to be a real gift. Our previous attempt with Joseph, when he was 4 or 5 at a YMCA in FW had been a disaster. No, not a loud, screaming disaster, but a quiet one. Joseph just refused to do anything the teacher asked. He didn't throw fits. He just shook his head, "no." He would blow bubbles, but that was it. I gave up after two lessons.
The problem was, I think - well, it might have been age - but it was also that the teacher, a young woman...indeed asked him to do these things. "Do you want to put your face in the water?" No. "Will you just lean your head back and get your ears wet?" No. "Can you hang on to the edge and kick?" No.
Our new teacher didn't ask. He told. He didn't give them a chance to think about an answer. With firmness and good cheer, and amusing songs, he had them proudly floating at the end of the first lesson.
As I said, age might have been part of it. But I'm convinced the Happy Drill Sergeant pedagogy was helpful, too. And maybe there was safety in numbers.
Joseph did great from start to finish, although there are still, naturally, gaps in his repertoire, and when we're back in these parts in August, I'll probably put him in a group class to fill those gaps.
Michael, being younger, didn't progress as far, and did get kind of mad a couple of times. (We don't cry - we try!) And as of yesterday, I was thinking, eh. At least he's not afraid to get his face wet and understands the concepts of holding your breath and letting the water hold you. Give him time.
Then today something interesting happened.
Where? Here. An easy 10 miles or so from our apartment.
We had been here once before, in January. Obviously not swimming, but to walk around a bit and visit the wildlife rehabilitation center. It was one of those moments in which Michael decided he needed exercise, and would take the boys to hike around a bit. It was a Sunday morning, I think (we had been to Mass on Saturday evening), and since this was his thing he liked to do with them, I initially thought I wouldn't go along. But then, thank God - and I mean, really - thank God - , I changed my mind. One more memory. A small one, but I'll take what I can get.
On the swimming, for those who have been following the saga, taking my shamefully non-swimming boys (my shame in not being more forceful on my end on getting them lessons) up to the present moment: The lessons are finished for now - private lessons I'd arranged here, with a teacher who proved to be a real gift. Our previous attempt with Joseph, when he was 4 or 5 at a YMCA in FW had been a disaster. No, not a loud, screaming disaster, but a quiet one. Joseph just refused to do anything the teacher asked. He didn't throw fits. He just shook his head, "no." He would blow bubbles, but that was it. I gave up after two lessons.
The problem was, I think - well, it might have been age - but it was also that the teacher, a young woman...indeed asked him to do these things. "Do you want to put your face in the water?" No. "Will you just lean your head back and get your ears wet?" No. "Can you hang on to the edge and kick?" No.
Our new teacher didn't ask. He told. He didn't give them a chance to think about an answer. With firmness and good cheer, and amusing songs, he had them proudly floating at the end of the first lesson.
As I said, age might have been part of it. But I'm convinced the Happy Drill Sergeant pedagogy was helpful, too. And maybe there was safety in numbers.
Joseph did great from start to finish, although there are still, naturally, gaps in his repertoire, and when we're back in these parts in August, I'll probably put him in a group class to fill those gaps.
Michael, being younger, didn't progress as far, and did get kind of mad a couple of times. (We don't cry - we try!) And as of yesterday, I was thinking, eh. At least he's not afraid to get his face wet and understands the concepts of holding your breath and letting the water hold you. Give him time.
Then today something interesting happened.
When we went to the pool to swim/play/practice, Michael really wouldn't do much. He would protest when I tried to encourage him to float or practice, even with me right there holding him. He refused, pretty much.
For much of today, he did the same thing - just playing happily at wading levels, which was fine.
Then, the second time I got in the water, after swimming and holding him for a while, I sat in the shallow water. About 10 feet from the edge of the beach, there is a set of two stone steps underwater, running the length of the shore. I don't know if that was the site of the original lake edge, or if they were constructed to offer a clear demarcation between shallow and not so shallow, but there they are. I sat there.
And Michael decided it was safe to swim.
He didn't do laps, but this is what he did: He would step away from me, from the shore, about three feet, then plunge underwater and swim to me.
He did it over and over and over, and probably would still be doing it right now.
Several dozen times. Fifty, sixty times, he did it. Walk out a bit, with the water up to his shoulders, turn around, throw himself under water, and reach for me. Rise, dripping, glistening, wipe the water from his forehead so it wouldn't drip into his eyes - the exact same gesture every time, and turn those huge eyes toward me, inquiring.
Good job! I said several dozen times. Good job!
I don't know why this time and not before. Did he learn one more thing at his last lesson that gave him the courage? The firm sand under his feet? Me, right there?
Whatever it was, I was glad. Glad to be there at that moment when everything clicked and he decided to dig deeper, take matters into his own little hands, and just try really hard and get it done. Me, lounging there on invisible steps, ready to receive him, moved him a step closer to freedom.
Some people don't understand faith at all. They see this Jesus thing as all about being confined and bound and imprisoned. It's not surprise that people think that way, for it too often ends up being the way religion is presented, especially to the young.
But of course, the Jesus thing is not about prison, except for the part in which you're released from it.
People touched by Christ don't say, "Oh good, it feels so great to be constricted and restricted and limited now." No, from grateful women washing Jesus' feet with their tears to Paul to Augustine to Dorothy Day to maybe you and certainly me, it is more like, "Wow. I'm free."
How does it work? Simple. Redeemed, we are free from the power of sin and death. They have no more power over us, they do not define us, they are replaced by the presence of Christ. And when Jesus is Lord in your life, his is the voice to which you listen. The voice of the One in whom you were created and recreated and who loves and knows you and wants the best for you in a way that no mere human can.
And that's where you find your freedom. Real freedom. A freedom that is powerful and can indeed, change your life the moment it all comes together in that mysterious combination of experience, listening, suffering and grace, because you know that the One who loves you more than you could ever understand wants you - yes wants you to find the life being held out to you, to find the courage to swim into the deep, confident that that same One remains near, hands outreached, ready for you.
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Just the affirmation I needed today.
My sons are 3 and 11 months.
My 3 has refused his swim lessons, thereby preventing me from swimming with my 11 all this week. I'm torn, trying to tell how much is about anxiety and swimming or about jealousy of mom being with the baby, or what. And I've felt at a complete loss as a mother this week as a result--the constant battle with the 3 whose only constancy is his opposition, the emotionally drained me not being nice to my kids afterwards, the fears of the 2nd child being neglected, never getting time with just mom--and I've been praying to Mary but still wondering what to do.
I'm an only child, and spent my childhood painfully shy and afraid of everything, so I have a difficult time knowing what's a normal amount of anxiety, discomfort, clinging-to-momness, of not wanting to try swimming, or of not wanting to be left alone. Am I pushing him too hard? Am I giving in too much? Whose fears are these, really?
When I read your blog, I see someone with much more wisdom than I have, but who still managed to come through from that shyness and introversion. This particular story has helped me. It will happen. The independence will come, the faith in God, in Christ, and in himself will too. Maybe some other year, but it will come. And it will come for me, too. I'll find faith in my mothering through Christ. Maybe not this year, but some year. My fears are my prison, and Christ does not want me to be afraid.
It will come! 3 is pretty young for swimming lessons. I mean - I 've seen some amazing 3-year old swimmers - kind of freakish, in a way. But at 4, Joseph refused. Michael was hesitant - and if he didn't have a big brother leading the way, he might have refused completely, too.
I'm an only child too. It is hard for us to figure out children, and children who are siblings. Take it also from one whose oldest children are almost 27 and 24. Love them and respect them and it will be fine. You will make mistakes, but as long as you don't present yourself to them as infallible, it will be fine.
Thank you for sharing this!
Amy, thanks for posting the wonderful picture of the boys! Can't believe how fast they are growing. Peg in Denver
Nicely written. I hope your journey continues.
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