Every year, our elementary school sends the second graders to the high school natatorium to have swim lessons. Pathetically, while I could swim and dive by age six, my children cannot. Of course, I grew up in Arizona and California and had pools in each backyard. I learned to swim by being dropped in the deep end. My kids have to be driven somewhere to learn how to swim. A task that seems Herculean, especially in a part of the country where winter = temperatures below freezing. And Things #1-3 take karate two or three times a week. I realize being able to swim is important. But so is being able to kick ass.
Random aside - who uses the word natatorium? Pretentious people, that's who. It's an indoor pool in York County. Stop trying to dress it up with Latin.
Anyway, so today was the Big Day for Thing #2. She can kinda-sorta swim, but I was glad she'd get instruction from a kinda-sorta professional. I'd packed a bathing suit and a towel in a bag and placed it near her backpack in the hopes she'd remember it. Towels are provided, but according to Thing #1, they are "nasty." Thing #2 asked me this morning where her swim stuff was. I pointed to the bag. And said it was right next to her backpack. Which it was.
This afternoon, Thing #4 had a phone check for her pacemaker. I picked her up from daycare and took her home so my husband could show me how to do it. How many lawyers does it take to perform a pacemaker phone check? Apparently only two, but only because Thing #4 is still nursing and she was more interested in eating than squirming and trying to get away from the donut/magnet that sends... something to the pacer clinic where they determine whether she's good to go for another three months.
As I left to go back to work - Thing #4 got to spend the afternoon with daddy and the Backyardigans - I noticed the gym bag by the table. Yep - Thing #2 left it at home. And my husband went home for it. But he didn't bother to check the contents of the bag he grabbed from the pantry and dropped off at school. Imagine my daughter's surprise when she dug into the bag and found, not the tie-dyed one-piece she thought would be there, but her sister's Jack Skellington hoodie. Awesome. I drove back to the office imagining her sobbing by the side of the pool as everyone else got to swim.
To my surprise, she wasn't upset at all. It turns out they had spare swimsuits. If the towels were nasty, I can only imagine what the suits are like. But she didn't care. Her only comment as we left the school was, "It's not like I have lice, mommy." Well, that's something.