Today was K’s last swim class. The super affordable class we’ve been taking is being cut, and we’re not prepared to continue, what with the giant sucking sound coming from our wallet. While swimming means a lot to K–a lot more than music class, for example–she has a short attention span, and a happy disposition. Whenever we start getting ready in the morning, she’s quick to ask, “What we going to?” and the response, almost across the board, is delivered with good cheer. She’ll start gym class in January, and I’m sure that she’ll enjoy it just as much. And I plan to take her to the pool on occasion, just to keep up her skills until the summer.
It’s me who’s taking it hard. I started swim classes with M over three years ago, and the classes would only take kids up to age three any. K’s not that far away. Another phase, coming to an end.
Swim class is not perfect. The time between the pool and dry clothes (with a shower in between), the dirty concrete floor, the extra laundry and time and fuss for a tiny half hour session–all things that have picked at me from time to time. But I loved that half hour with each kid, that time to play together, completely focused, laughing and learning and seeing them make big and little bounds in skill.
It’s the grocery cart all over again, only this time, I don’t have a choice. So I took K out for a celebration lunch, just us girls, and signed her up for gym when I got home. As much fun as the bubbly baby swim class was, I take comfort that we rode that wave all the way to the shore, and are paddling out for another.