“LOOK Mama, LOOK!” Delia demanded as she plunged into another frantic underwater handstand. Had there been a lifeguard within eyeshot, a full-blown rescue would have ensued. I offered my requisite clapping from the poolside deck.
“That was great, honey!” I overpitched, having lost all perspective after about the fortieth attempt.
After our barn-burner start to the summer on the waterslides of Niagara Falls, we continued our wet adventure at my in-laws cottage on Lake Simcoe last week. The property isn’t actually on the water, but a ways up the hill from it, so a pool was installed about fifty years ago to provide easy access to swimming.
“Come in Mum, the warm’s warm!” Oh, I’ve heard that promise before. One look at the pinky-blue goose bumps on my son’s arms as he bobbed in the unheated pool, and I lobbed back a stall tactic.
“I just need to get hot enough sweetie, then I’ll be in.”
Yeah, in August.
Born a Pisces, my daughter is a natural swimmer (if birth signs have anything to do with it). Her brother, by contrast, is not. After untold years of swimming lessons, Bodie still floats like a stone. Give him a hockey stick and a puck and he’s all show. But ask him to do a little front crawl, and he flails through the water in soggy fits of laughter. I don’t expect Michael Phelps, but less ‘drowning man’ would be nice for all of the classes we’ve endured. Here’s pictorial evidence, as approved by Mr. Aquatics himself:
At least the kid’s got a sense of humour, and that’s got to count for something. We’ll ramp up the lessons again in September.
In the meantime, I’ll just revel in the peace and tranquility that only these family-bonding summer months can offer.
“No, WATCH ME Mama!”
“She’s watching ME!”
“I asked first!”
“YOU DID NOT! I ASKED HER FIRST!”
“You’re such an idiot.”
“YOU’RE an idiot!”
“Well YOU’RE a …”
Aah … summer.