Sink or Swim
Our four-year-old had a swimming lesson today. I remembered this about 35 minutes before it was to start. (I'm not getting into the autumn/school year routine very smoothly.) He's a Kipper now (I assume this is some type of fish) after graduating from Shrimp on his third or fourth attempt.
The successful Shrimp session was clearly different from the ones that preceded it. I'm amazed at how certain skills, like potty use, drawing, and (apparently) putting one's face in the water, just sort of click one day. Gradual development in these arenas may have happened under the surface, but to the naked eye, it seemed like our little guy just woke up one day and (1) decided to use the toilet, (2) figured out that he could make pictures that actually represented something, and (3) wasn't afraid to get water in his eyes anymore. (Note: This did not all happen in a single day. He is not the spawn of Superman (no offense, dear).)
Anyway, Kipper and Shrimp are very different creatures, and I mean that figuratively. I suppose it has to happen sometime, but it's in Kipper that the safety net is rolled up and tossed aside. There are no more plastic barbells with huge white floaty marshmallows at each end, no applauding for holding one's head underwater for half a second; this is where the rubber hits the road, or, more literally, where the stomach hits the surface. Proficiency in semi-rhythmic breathing and a sophisticated relative of the doggie paddle are expected before a passing grade will be given. We're not talkin' "water readiness" anymore. This is swimming.
It's simultaneously remarkable and terrifying to watch your small son attempting for the first time ever to make his way from instructor's arms to pool edge all by his lonesome. 'Shouldn't she be helping him a bit more?' I wonder. 'Isn't she leaving him to struggle just a tad too long?' I worry. There's a desperation, a striving for survival in the mad paddling of those little arms and legs as they, in their uncoordinated preschool fashion, try to propel a body that's much too heavy through a medium that's much too resistant.
I thought about all this as I pruned my lavender this afternoon. It was consuming the tarragon beside it and was spilling over onto the patio, a profuse jumble of leafy green boughs on its perimeter and stark spokes of woody stems at its center. I hadn't been sure how and when to approach this project; since it was still blooming, I figured cutting it back might not be the best idea. However, when my father-in-law visits us, as he is at present, our yard gets a zealous overhaul, so I shurgged and figured now was as good a time as any.
The scent of lavender is a reputed mood-lifter, so it's no surprise that I was calmed to the point of free association in uncertainly snipping at the plant. As I trimmed away the extra weight at the ends of the branches, my lavender began to look more like a little mounded shrub and less like an anvil had been dropped on it. 'Look at me!' I thought. 'I know what I'm doing here!' I hadn't when I started (which is truthfully why I hadn't started weeks ago), but as I just dove into it, it became clear what it was that I needed to do.
I guess that's what being a Kipper is about, too, and why my two-year-old insists on zipping her jacket and putting her toothpaste on the brush, as she says so insistently, "all by myself!" Learning and growing is often a sink-or-swim proposition.
The successful Shrimp session was clearly different from the ones that preceded it. I'm amazed at how certain skills, like potty use, drawing, and (apparently) putting one's face in the water, just sort of click one day. Gradual development in these arenas may have happened under the surface, but to the naked eye, it seemed like our little guy just woke up one day and (1) decided to use the toilet, (2) figured out that he could make pictures that actually represented something, and (3) wasn't afraid to get water in his eyes anymore. (Note: This did not all happen in a single day. He is not the spawn of Superman (no offense, dear).)
Anyway, Kipper and Shrimp are very different creatures, and I mean that figuratively. I suppose it has to happen sometime, but it's in Kipper that the safety net is rolled up and tossed aside. There are no more plastic barbells with huge white floaty marshmallows at each end, no applauding for holding one's head underwater for half a second; this is where the rubber hits the road, or, more literally, where the stomach hits the surface. Proficiency in semi-rhythmic breathing and a sophisticated relative of the doggie paddle are expected before a passing grade will be given. We're not talkin' "water readiness" anymore. This is swimming.
It's simultaneously remarkable and terrifying to watch your small son attempting for the first time ever to make his way from instructor's arms to pool edge all by his lonesome. 'Shouldn't she be helping him a bit more?' I wonder. 'Isn't she leaving him to struggle just a tad too long?' I worry. There's a desperation, a striving for survival in the mad paddling of those little arms and legs as they, in their uncoordinated preschool fashion, try to propel a body that's much too heavy through a medium that's much too resistant.
I thought about all this as I pruned my lavender this afternoon. It was consuming the tarragon beside it and was spilling over onto the patio, a profuse jumble of leafy green boughs on its perimeter and stark spokes of woody stems at its center. I hadn't been sure how and when to approach this project; since it was still blooming, I figured cutting it back might not be the best idea. However, when my father-in-law visits us, as he is at present, our yard gets a zealous overhaul, so I shurgged and figured now was as good a time as any.
The scent of lavender is a reputed mood-lifter, so it's no surprise that I was calmed to the point of free association in uncertainly snipping at the plant. As I trimmed away the extra weight at the ends of the branches, my lavender began to look more like a little mounded shrub and less like an anvil had been dropped on it. 'Look at me!' I thought. 'I know what I'm doing here!' I hadn't when I started (which is truthfully why I hadn't started weeks ago), but as I just dove into it, it became clear what it was that I needed to do.
I guess that's what being a Kipper is about, too, and why my two-year-old insists on zipping her jacket and putting her toothpaste on the brush, as she says so insistently, "all by myself!" Learning and growing is often a sink-or-swim proposition.
posted by Lisa Strandberg at 9:41 PM
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