Swimming (continued) or How to Make My Shit List

We returned to swim lessons on Tuesday.  I thought we should give it one more try.  I should have known better.

For the last week, while we were sitting together over breakfast or as I was pulling his shirt over his head, Will would ask, "Are we going swimming today?"  I would say no and tell him just how many days there were until the next class.  Then I would praise him and try to build his confidence.  

On Tuesday morning, Will knew we were headed back to class.  

At breakfast, Will complained that he was too tired.  As I helped him get dressed, he whined that he didn't want to go.  As I buckled him into the car, his eyes were filled with tears.  As we turned into the parking lot, he was sobbing.  The more upset he became, the more horrible I felt.  But at the same time, I felt that not going could send some message about quitting or facing up to fears.  So we went.

It was pouring out.  I fumbled with a stroller, an infant, a diaper bag, and an inconsolable 3-year-old.  He kept saying that he didn't want to go and as we entered the pool area he was crying.  I kept telling him that everything would be okay... he would be fine.  I think I was trying to convince the both of us.

I spoke to the teacher before class, explaining that Will had always loved the water and been a strong swimmer for his age/ability group.  I explained that his confidence had been shaken and that he could use some encouragement and extra attention this week.  I suggested that we speak at the end of the class, and if Will continued to struggle, we could switch him to a more appropriate class.  She looked at Will, who had regained his composure-- but still appeared visibly upset, and asked me, "So, he's swimming today?"  When I told her that he would swim, she took his hand and lead him to the pool-- without so much as a word or smile to him.

In the pool, he looked scared and shaken.  He was trying to keep up, but he was just too upset.  I watched as the instructor strapped a bubble to him.  He looked at me and began sobbing.  A few minutes later, she sat him on the edge of the pool to calm down.  At this point, I was motioning to him to come to me, but he was still.  I think he was afraid to move.  He rejoined the class and she would intermittently sit him off to the side when he wasn't keeping up.  At the end of the class, the students moved to a more shallow part of the pool where they dove for rings-- this is always Will's favorite part of class.  He eagerly dove below the water to retrieve a ring and he carried it to her.  She slid it up her arm, adding it to her collection without saying a word or even nodding.  I watched as this happened three more times-- Will eagerly finding a ring and seeking out her approval-- she ignoring him.  

She seriously made my shit list.  Big time.  For life.

It figures that she didn't say a word to us at the end of class.

I ended up switching Will to a different time, day and teacher.  I also lowered him back to his previous level, just to build his confidence.  I told him that we were switching to a class that's more fun and he asked me if he was moving 'backwards'.  Then, my once confident, bubble-free, little swimmer told me that he couldn't go into the water... without his bubble.

This was a mistake.  Big one.  I am an ass.  Big one.

Enough Already

As I've already mentioned, Will had the stomach virus last week.  Five days of vomiting and diarrhea.  Then, on the first day that Will started to hold down some food, Liam got sick.  Today is Liam's fifth day and thankfully, he just (about a half-hour ago) kept down his first bottle since Friday evening of last week.  If you do the math, that's 10 consecutive days of blaaah.  The last few, especially, have been rough because Liam is not sleeping well at night.  Instead, he cat naps on-and-off, all day and all night.  Sleep, whine, cry, whine, sleep, whine, cry, whine, eat, vomit, whine, sleep, cry... 

This morning, I came downstairs with Liam at around 5 am.  He was fussy and couldn't sleep, so I made him a bottle of Pedialyte.  He calmed down a bit, but didn't fall back to sleep until around 6 am-- just in time for Will to come bounding down the stairs.  Will asked for fruit snacks and then television-- and I would've nodded my head 'yes' to just about anything to keep things quiet.  I kept motioning to Will to be quiet, pointing at Liam, who was lightly snoozing next to me.  "Mommy", Will whispered, "I want to sit there.  That's my spot."  (Of course, 'there' was where Liam lay sleeping.)  I tried to reason quietly with Will and felt my patience slipping away as he got louder and louder.  Finally, he jumped off the couch and flipped the television off as he loudly protested.  Liam's eyes bolted open as he gazed around the room.  I was so frustrated that, without saying a word, I tossed threw the remote to the floor.  The back of the remote flew off and the batteries scattered across the hardwood floor.  Liam started crying immediately and Will, watching from across the room, was the first to speak...

"GREAT!  Now look what you did-- you woke up Liam... and you're not supposed to throw things when you're angry."

You know you've had it when you look like the three-year-old and your three-year-old sounds like the adult.  I'm so ready for everyone to be healthy again and for a few good nights of sleep.  Hopefully, we're on the road to recovery.

Thanks to everyone for the comments and e-mails from the last few posts.  You guys are the best!

My Bad

Yesterday evening, as I was weaving through the crowd at the ice arena, I was thinking of all the mistakes that I have made as a parent.  There was the time I brought Will to Great Adventure on a sunny, 95 degree day, while 8 months pregnant.  Then there was the time I fed Will an entire bottle of milk less than a half-hour after Mommy & Me swim class.  There was also the time I was halfway down our street when Will reminded me that I hadn't fastened his seat belt.   Also, the time when I was so frustrated with Will picking his nose that I told him that his brains were going to fall out.  (Each of those stories could have made for some interesting posts.)  However, as I was weaving through the crowd last night, one hand holding onto Will's and the other carrying a plastic bag full of his vomit, I was pretty much thinking that tonight was my biggest screw up to date. .

.

A few hours earlier, I was rushing to make dinner.  Bill was upstairs, getting ready to coach his hockey game. Will and I had plans to take Liam to grandma's, so that we could go to the game, just the two of us.  This was the semi-final round for conference hockey and it was a pretty big deal.  In addition to making dinner, I had to get both kids ready, pack Liam's diaper bag, drop Liam off at grandma's and drive to the arena-- hopefully making it there early enough to get two seats.  Will was complaining, on-and-off, that his stomach was bothering him-- but he was still running around and playing as usual.  I had my back to him when he entered the kitchen, announced that he didn't feel so good and then threw up all over the floor and his sock-covered feet.  I drained the pasta, threw a roll of paper towels at the mess and then carried him upstairs to clean him up.  

It was decided that we weren't going to the game.  Then, as Bill and I were eating dinner, Will was running around and back to his old self-- telling us his belly felt better and that he wanted to go to the game.  And the truth of the matter is that I wanted to go to the game.  

So we went to the game.  We were there for 1 1/2 periods before Will got sick.  

I cleaned him up, carried him back to the car and we headed home.  I gave him a bath, put him in his pjs and introduced him to the 'puke bucket'.  We cuddled in my bed (photos above) until Will fell asleep-- but not before the bucket was put to good use a few more times.

Tonight, the good news is that Will is feeling 100% better and Bill won his game and is on to the finals.  Now, I'm just hoping that karma doesn't wack me with this stomach bug as a payback for dragging my poor, sick kid to the game.