I'll share a quick story:
I walked upstairs to go to the bathroom and I smelled the tell-tale stink of nail polish.
"Are you playing with nail polish?" I asked, thinking this was a rhetorical question. I looked into the girls' room. They were waiting for Daddy to finish putting them to bed, supposedly, both in Eeyore's top bunk.
"No," Eeyore said, succinctly. I went to the bathroom to do my business and think for a minute whether or not I believed her. The whole upstairs stunk. I wasn't home all evening. For all I knew the stench was left over from earlier. As I was debating, Peanut knocked on the door and sheepishly said, "Mama, Eeyore and I were playing with nailpolish." She knew what her fate might be for lying, and quickly calculated she might bail herself out with the truth.
So I lectured and disciplined Eeyore for lying, sneaking, and for using nailpolish in one's bed. I let Peanut know she was also in trouble for playing with nailpolish, but gave her praise for telling the truth. I let her know it "could have been worse." That finished, I sent them back upstairs to finish their bedtime routines.
A little bit later, Mr. Mel went up to put the girls to bed, and decided he was going be The Intimidator, giving yet another lecture on lying. "So, I hear you weren't honest with Mama about the nail polish. Lying is a very bad..."
PTHHHHFFFFFTTT! Peanut ripped a loud one. She giggled. Eyes wide as saucers staring at Daddy, she covered her mouth. Mr. Mel tried to hold back his laugh.
"People who lie..."
PBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Peanut ripped another one, still trying to hold her giggles back with her hands. Mr. Mel took two deep breaths, turned his back on the girls to contain himself, and then started all over again.
"Ok, here's the deal. If we catch you ever lying again..."
Pbttttttht! (giggle)
"I will personally..."
Pfffffft Ptttttt (giggle)
"Uh..."
PBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBTTTTTTTTTT!
"BWAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHHAHAAAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Mr. Mel never did finish his lecture.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Cape May Adventure
When our Tennessee trip canceled last minute we decided to camp in Cape May, NJ for a few nights. It was quite the adventure. I'm a terrible photographer. I have a few campsite pictures (four to be exact) and a bunch from our second day at the beach. I missed taking shots of mini-golf when The Boy beat Dad by one point. I also didn't get any pictures of the kids charming the Quebec family that camped next to us. However, I did make a slide-show of day two at the beach, which promptly both The Boy and Eeyore pointed out that Peanut is more prevalent throughout the slide show. I, in turn, pointed out, that A) Eeyore dominates the first third of the movie, B) The Boy dominates the middle, and C) Peanut is at the end D) Peanut happened to play near my chair and E) I'm lazy and it was easy to pick up the camera and just shoot pictures. (Really, E is not the reason, but hopefully I was as fair as I could be in taking equal amounts of shots). The video did not capture the wildness of the riptides that caused the beach to close early that day...nor the two accidents that sent ambulances screaming onto the scene. It also doesn't show the shark alert, nor the dolphins that followed the tour boats, as if on cue. But it does show a lot of pictures of my kids playing in the waves, or in the sand. Peanut lost in thought, Eeyore after she wiped out and really hurt her nose (it still hurts, if you're wondering). She really didn't want me to take a picture of her crying, hence the towel over her face pic. So, if you have 6 minutes and 50 seconds to fritter away, here's our vacation pictures:
Monday, July 07, 2008
The Fort
Power tools. Yes, power tools and a hatchet make a mean fort. This is what I learned from my vacation this week. I guess when I was growing up, the boys in my neighborhood weren't allowed access to power tools, so I really had no idea how three guys on the precipice of manhood could create such a monsterpiece with a circular saw and three small hatchets. The circular saw being an indulgence on the part of their, ahem, grandfather, a.k.a. "Pop."
"Are you sure they should be using that?" I asked over the distinct whine of the saw.
"Yeah, they'll be fine," my father said without looking up from his magazine.
"Shouldn't they wear safety goggles or something?"
He looked up over the deck railing, "Hey guys, put on some safety goggles."
Gee thanks Dad.
That's the problem with grandparents. You can override them, but not always easily. And since no one had lost any fingers, and since the older "boys" were living vicariously through their sons, my husband and brother-in-law were agreeable to the power tools as well. I was easily outnumbered. Six to one, as a matter of fact. So with all the grace and dignity one fretting mother can have, I removed myself and pretended the saw whine was coming from the neighbor's house.
Ignoring the hatchets was another problem. Really the whole mosterpiece started with the hatchets my father bought The Boy and his cousins, S3 and Ty. They've been using them for a few months now, whenever we went to the "mountains." And they're becoming more efficient and brazen with these hatchets too. Who knew three boys could fell a twenty foot tree with a twenty inch diameter with three rather small hatchets? Apparently, with enough dogged-determination, they could. And not just one tree, but at least two, I saw, went down for the count. I had wild visions of small squirming bodies stuck under large fallen trees.
"I promise you they were dead," The Boy pronounced after seeing my horror stricken face. "Pop says we can only chop down the dead trees."
"Well, that's a mighty big dead tree." said I, master of the obvious.
"I swear. I was dead. Really it was. It only had like, two branches on it, and no leaves. I swear," he said.
Josh never got that it wasn't the alive/dead factor as much as it was I wanted to shriek, "THAT FREAKIN' TREE IS FIVE HUNDRED TIMES TALLER THAN YOU!??? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR EVER LOVIN' MIND?" Thankfully, I was the epitome of control and self-restraint. I merely sighed and walked back into the house. I figured my mother and sister had the right of things, and promptly buried my nose in a book, transporting myself away into other worlds. What I didn't know, I couldn't worry about right?
They hammered, and they sawed, and they chopped. We saw them for meals, when we demanded they stop and eat. We begged them to bathe. They passed out in their tent after a long, productive, day in the woods. They grunted to us when they passed through the house, most likely en route to find Pop for another power tool.
"You want something to eat?"
"Ungh"
"How's the fort?"
"Mmm"
"Good, great talking to you. See ya around."
"Huh?"
A couple of years ago, the boys built a platform between three trees, slats of wood hammered into a tree to act as a ladder. The main beam/tree began at the platform and angled down to the ground, the whole humongous length of the tree. I'm still marveling how they managed to drag the tree, and prop it up. Angled on either side of the beam, the boys placed smaller logs and boards to form the walls, almost tent shape. Add a make-shift door, and some leaves for camouflage and, viola, a fort to rival the forts of their predecessors.
So, now we're home, and the fort stands lonely, slightly incomplete (but really, is a fort ever finished? This is at least its fifth incarnation), and waiting for the return of the boys. I actually saw my son today, the first in about a week. He looks good. He's actually clean. And, despite the circular saw, he still has all of his fingers. What more could a mom want?
"Are you sure they should be using that?" I asked over the distinct whine of the saw.
"Yeah, they'll be fine," my father said without looking up from his magazine.
"Shouldn't they wear safety goggles or something?"
He looked up over the deck railing, "Hey guys, put on some safety goggles."
Gee thanks Dad.
That's the problem with grandparents. You can override them, but not always easily. And since no one had lost any fingers, and since the older "boys" were living vicariously through their sons, my husband and brother-in-law were agreeable to the power tools as well. I was easily outnumbered. Six to one, as a matter of fact. So with all the grace and dignity one fretting mother can have, I removed myself and pretended the saw whine was coming from the neighbor's house.
Ignoring the hatchets was another problem. Really the whole mosterpiece started with the hatchets my father bought The Boy and his cousins, S3 and Ty. They've been using them for a few months now, whenever we went to the "mountains." And they're becoming more efficient and brazen with these hatchets too. Who knew three boys could fell a twenty foot tree with a twenty inch diameter with three rather small hatchets? Apparently, with enough dogged-determination, they could. And not just one tree, but at least two, I saw, went down for the count. I had wild visions of small squirming bodies stuck under large fallen trees.
"I promise you they were dead," The Boy pronounced after seeing my horror stricken face. "Pop says we can only chop down the dead trees."
"Well, that's a mighty big dead tree." said I, master of the obvious.
"I swear. I was dead. Really it was. It only had like, two branches on it, and no leaves. I swear," he said.
Josh never got that it wasn't the alive/dead factor as much as it was I wanted to shriek, "THAT FREAKIN' TREE IS FIVE HUNDRED TIMES TALLER THAN YOU!??? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR EVER LOVIN' MIND?" Thankfully, I was the epitome of control and self-restraint. I merely sighed and walked back into the house. I figured my mother and sister had the right of things, and promptly buried my nose in a book, transporting myself away into other worlds. What I didn't know, I couldn't worry about right?
They hammered, and they sawed, and they chopped. We saw them for meals, when we demanded they stop and eat. We begged them to bathe. They passed out in their tent after a long, productive, day in the woods. They grunted to us when they passed through the house, most likely en route to find Pop for another power tool.
"You want something to eat?"
"Ungh"
"How's the fort?"
"Mmm"
"Good, great talking to you. See ya around."
"Huh?"
A couple of years ago, the boys built a platform between three trees, slats of wood hammered into a tree to act as a ladder. The main beam/tree began at the platform and angled down to the ground, the whole humongous length of the tree. I'm still marveling how they managed to drag the tree, and prop it up. Angled on either side of the beam, the boys placed smaller logs and boards to form the walls, almost tent shape. Add a make-shift door, and some leaves for camouflage and, viola, a fort to rival the forts of their predecessors.
So, now we're home, and the fort stands lonely, slightly incomplete (but really, is a fort ever finished? This is at least its fifth incarnation), and waiting for the return of the boys. I actually saw my son today, the first in about a week. He looks good. He's actually clean. And, despite the circular saw, he still has all of his fingers. What more could a mom want?
Thursday, June 12, 2008
"What's in your world?"
Some contemplations from Peanut:
On imagination:
"What's in your world?"
Peanut asked me one day, her face all serious.
"What? What do you mean what's in my world."
"In your head. What's in your world in your head? I have 'Peanut World'" She said.
"Oh. Well, I have a good imagination. Sometimes I imagine different characters and make-up stories."
"Yeah, Me too."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
On Making Friends:
This is Peanut's first year on swim team. She loves to swim, and would be in the water 24/7 if I'd let her. Yet, she was extremely nervous about her first day of practice. She had been swimming with the same instructor, who turned into her coach this Spring, since she was barely three years old. The summer swim team has different coaches, and different kids. I found her at the breakfast table before practice swirling her spoon around in her bowl. Her little face was down-turned, a furrow creasing her forehead as she was lost deep in thought.
"You need to eat. You have to get ready for practice," I said.
She looked up, her eyes frought with worry, "My tummy doesn't feel like eating," She said.
Peanut loves breakfast. Peanut never ever fights about eating breakfast. I knew something was wrong. "What's the matter, pun'kin? Are you worried about your first practice?"
"Yeah. I won't know anybody!" She stretched her arms wide to each side, her eyes growing large and round as she gestured the word "anybody."
"I'm sure there will be someone there you know. A lot of the kids who swim over the winter where you did, also swim on our team."
She didn't look convinced. I told her she needed to try to eat a few more bites, and then proceeded to bribe her with a trip to the local convenience store for a slushy so she could make it through her first practice.
After practice she was all smiley and bubbly, bouncing as she walked. "I made a new friend!" She announced.
"Oh really? I told you that you'd be ok."
"Yeah, her name is Jane" she said. "It was really easy."
"Yeah?"
"I just opened my mouth and talked to her and now she's my friend. I didn't know it was so easy to make a new friend," she said.
---------------------------------------------------------------
On the virtue of being "brown" :
We were sitting under the pavilion at the pool while Eeyore was at her swim practice. Each one of my kids has their own practice time. Another mother was spraying sunblock on her daughter's back in preparation for practice.
"I don't need sunblock. I don't burn." Peanut bragged. "I'm lucky 'cuz I'm brown. "
-----------------------------------------------------------------
On Diving Boards:
The layout of our pool is unique because it is an oval with a shallow outter ring, and then a side walk (we call a cat walk) separating the deep area from the shallow. The deep area is in the center of the pool, and for the most part, it is equal in depth, except near the cat walk, and the diving boards. The average depth of the inner circle is around 6 ft. We have an Olympic pool as well where people lap swim, or water walk. This is where swim team has practice as well. We're fortunate to have such a huge and well kept pool to swim at.
Peanut wanted her swimmer's patch badly this year. At our pool, if you want to go off the diving board or swim in the inner circle, you have to have a swimmer's patch. The patch is sewn to the bathing suit and allows the life guard to quickly know who can and cannot swim well enough to be in the inner circle. I told Peanut that she needed to practice a bit before going for her test. The test requires a swimmer to swim freestyle from one catwalk to the other, a distance of about 35-40 yards, a little over a lap and a half of a 25 yard pool. Usually I have my kids practice two non-stop laps in the Olympic pool before going for their test. I figure when they can do that with ease, then the distance from one catwalk to the other won't be such an issue.
However, one day when Peanut wanted to practice, we couldn't go over to the Olympic pool. It was adult swim and the old people get really cranky when kids are in the pool. Nevermind that lane six is supposed to be for kids to swim laps in, and usually my kids actually swim laps. So, we were practicing in the outter ring swimming from one catwalk to the next. The distance is a little longer because it's not in a straight line like the test. Peanut got about half way, swimming past the backside of the diving boards when she stopped, stood up, looked at the diving boards and stated, "I'm going to be SCARED TO DEATH to go off those diving boards." Suddenly the motivation for her patch disappeared.
Yesterday, however she changed her mind, as nearly-six year olds often do, and she went for her swimmers patch. She aced the swimming portion, which was all that The Boy and Eeyore had to complete for their patch. Apparently they added a new portion to the test where the child has to jump off the diving board and swim to the ladder. Peanut had resolved she was never going to go off the diving boards but still wanted her patch so she could "Swim in the deep water." I held my breath. I wasn't sure Peanut would make it if she had to climb up the ladder and jump off the diving board.
Tentatively, Peanut climbed the ladder and started inching her way to the edge. She stopped short, terror etched in her face, eyes pinched behind her goggles. She started to cry, "I can't do it!" she wailed inching back towards the ladder. The lifeguard administering the test informed her she wouldn't pass. I came over to her to comfort and encourage her. I looked at her little face, reminded her it really wasn't all that high up (after all, we were eye to eye with her still standing on the board) and then informed her she'd have to re-swim that length of the pool if she didn't get her patch today. The last bit of my speech must have been the magic words because she looked as if she'd rather die than re-swim the first part of the test.
Grim with determination, Peanut inched her way back to the edge of the diving board, her little face set with deep concentration as she fought to suppress the fear. On average, Peanut might be a timid creature, but she does exert a will from time to time that would confound the most strong willed of people. She just has to have the right motivation. Before she could think about the height, or the plunge into the water, she leaped off the board, landing in the water in a very awkward position. She swam to the ladder, climbed out, and pronounced, "That was FUN!"
Peanut got her swimmer's patch.
On imagination:
"What's in your world?"
Peanut asked me one day, her face all serious.
"What? What do you mean what's in my world."
"In your head. What's in your world in your head? I have 'Peanut World'" She said.
"Oh. Well, I have a good imagination. Sometimes I imagine different characters and make-up stories."
"Yeah, Me too."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
On Making Friends:
This is Peanut's first year on swim team. She loves to swim, and would be in the water 24/7 if I'd let her. Yet, she was extremely nervous about her first day of practice. She had been swimming with the same instructor, who turned into her coach this Spring, since she was barely three years old. The summer swim team has different coaches, and different kids. I found her at the breakfast table before practice swirling her spoon around in her bowl. Her little face was down-turned, a furrow creasing her forehead as she was lost deep in thought.
"You need to eat. You have to get ready for practice," I said.
She looked up, her eyes frought with worry, "My tummy doesn't feel like eating," She said.
Peanut loves breakfast. Peanut never ever fights about eating breakfast. I knew something was wrong. "What's the matter, pun'kin? Are you worried about your first practice?"
"Yeah. I won't know anybody!" She stretched her arms wide to each side, her eyes growing large and round as she gestured the word "anybody."
"I'm sure there will be someone there you know. A lot of the kids who swim over the winter where you did, also swim on our team."
She didn't look convinced. I told her she needed to try to eat a few more bites, and then proceeded to bribe her with a trip to the local convenience store for a slushy so she could make it through her first practice.
After practice she was all smiley and bubbly, bouncing as she walked. "I made a new friend!" She announced.
"Oh really? I told you that you'd be ok."
"Yeah, her name is Jane" she said. "It was really easy."
"Yeah?"
"I just opened my mouth and talked to her and now she's my friend. I didn't know it was so easy to make a new friend," she said.
---------------------------------------------------------------
On the virtue of being "brown" :
We were sitting under the pavilion at the pool while Eeyore was at her swim practice. Each one of my kids has their own practice time. Another mother was spraying sunblock on her daughter's back in preparation for practice.
"I don't need sunblock. I don't burn." Peanut bragged. "I'm lucky 'cuz I'm brown. "
-----------------------------------------------------------------
On Diving Boards:
The layout of our pool is unique because it is an oval with a shallow outter ring, and then a side walk (we call a cat walk) separating the deep area from the shallow. The deep area is in the center of the pool, and for the most part, it is equal in depth, except near the cat walk, and the diving boards. The average depth of the inner circle is around 6 ft. We have an Olympic pool as well where people lap swim, or water walk. This is where swim team has practice as well. We're fortunate to have such a huge and well kept pool to swim at.
Peanut wanted her swimmer's patch badly this year. At our pool, if you want to go off the diving board or swim in the inner circle, you have to have a swimmer's patch. The patch is sewn to the bathing suit and allows the life guard to quickly know who can and cannot swim well enough to be in the inner circle. I told Peanut that she needed to practice a bit before going for her test. The test requires a swimmer to swim freestyle from one catwalk to the other, a distance of about 35-40 yards, a little over a lap and a half of a 25 yard pool. Usually I have my kids practice two non-stop laps in the Olympic pool before going for their test. I figure when they can do that with ease, then the distance from one catwalk to the other won't be such an issue.
However, one day when Peanut wanted to practice, we couldn't go over to the Olympic pool. It was adult swim and the old people get really cranky when kids are in the pool. Nevermind that lane six is supposed to be for kids to swim laps in, and usually my kids actually swim laps. So, we were practicing in the outter ring swimming from one catwalk to the next. The distance is a little longer because it's not in a straight line like the test. Peanut got about half way, swimming past the backside of the diving boards when she stopped, stood up, looked at the diving boards and stated, "I'm going to be SCARED TO DEATH to go off those diving boards." Suddenly the motivation for her patch disappeared.
Yesterday, however she changed her mind, as nearly-six year olds often do, and she went for her swimmers patch. She aced the swimming portion, which was all that The Boy and Eeyore had to complete for their patch. Apparently they added a new portion to the test where the child has to jump off the diving board and swim to the ladder. Peanut had resolved she was never going to go off the diving boards but still wanted her patch so she could "Swim in the deep water." I held my breath. I wasn't sure Peanut would make it if she had to climb up the ladder and jump off the diving board.
Tentatively, Peanut climbed the ladder and started inching her way to the edge. She stopped short, terror etched in her face, eyes pinched behind her goggles. She started to cry, "I can't do it!" she wailed inching back towards the ladder. The lifeguard administering the test informed her she wouldn't pass. I came over to her to comfort and encourage her. I looked at her little face, reminded her it really wasn't all that high up (after all, we were eye to eye with her still standing on the board) and then informed her she'd have to re-swim that length of the pool if she didn't get her patch today. The last bit of my speech must have been the magic words because she looked as if she'd rather die than re-swim the first part of the test.
Grim with determination, Peanut inched her way back to the edge of the diving board, her little face set with deep concentration as she fought to suppress the fear. On average, Peanut might be a timid creature, but she does exert a will from time to time that would confound the most strong willed of people. She just has to have the right motivation. Before she could think about the height, or the plunge into the water, she leaped off the board, landing in the water in a very awkward position. She swam to the ladder, climbed out, and pronounced, "That was FUN!"
Peanut got her swimmer's patch.
Monday, May 05, 2008
Things they didn't tell me about parenthood...
...or perhaps things I wouldn't have been able to understand before now:
- How selfish I am
- How much I can hurt
- How much I can love
- How much I can worry
- How angry I can get
- How sad I can feel
- How much guilt I can carry
- How proud I can be
- How tired I can get (both emotionally, mentally, and physically)
- How happy I am
- How introspective I find myself
- How old I can feel
- How much de ja vu I have when I help with homework
- How confused I can be
- How scared I can get
- How overprotective and unreasonable I can become
- How much I miss my babies
- How much I enjoy my pre-teenager (ok, maybe when he's not moody)
- How much laughter we'd share
- How much crying we'd soothe
- How many doctors we'd visit
- How many boo-boo's we'd kiss
- How many dreams we see fulfilled
- How many dreams we'd have to let go of
- How material objects are not so important anymore
- How dirty my house can get
- How bad of a housewife I am (definitely not mrs. clean!)
- How many swim meets, soccer games, spring concerts, talent shows I'd attend
- How I'd forget their first words, and first steps
- How I'd cry when I packed up their baby things and gave them away
- How excited I'd be to move into the next phase of life
- How exasperated by teachers I'd become
- How grateful to strangers who helped me when I needed it
- How much I'd come to respect my husband as a father (he's so much better at this parent thing than me!)
- How much I'd enjoy a field trip to the orchard through my child's eyes
- How many episodes of Sesame Street, Dora the Explorer, Spongebob, H2O, Drake and Josh, Mythbusters, and Survivorman I'd see
- How I could sing all the words to every kid show on the planet by memory
- How many songs on the radio are inappropriate for little ears!
- How many sleepless nights (even well after infancy) I'd endure
- How gross losing that first tooth is
- How much fun to relive childhood through your kids
- How enjoyable, yet wistful, watching your children grow too fast
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Where have I been?
Well, no where really. It's just a busy year for me, I suppose. I've been a bit of a slug since graduating. I took on "real" work (not that domestic goddess isn't a real job, mind you. I found it is more difficult than working in an office!) and that is consuming my time. And I took up reading for a hobby. Nothing worthwhile to report about...mostly fluffy books that help me escape. I don't know when or why I've become so obsessed, but I'm literally reading about a book a day. Sometimes, I have to stretch a book over two days, but not usually. So, that's about all I'm going to post about under this subject heading...I think I'll philosophize in another post, just to keep things clean and simple.
Monday, March 10, 2008
I'm in a snit
For no real good reason, really, other than I'm sick, grumpy, and my plans for getting a late start tomorrow were foiled.
I was supposed to have this week off from actually teaching swimming lessons. But we had a poop-related incident on a Tuesday past, and so we have some make-ups to do tomorrow. I thought the make-ups started at 10:30 and on into the afternoon. Apparently, I was wrong. So now...I have to still be there for my private lesson at 9:30 in the morning. I don't have a 10:00 group lesson...so in essence, I'll have to get out of the water for a half hour and back in. I hate teaching private lessons.
People automatically assume because their child is getting one on one in a swimming lesson that it is better instruction. They're wrong. Dead wrong. It's only good in certain circumstances...usually if a child is overly anxious about the water, extremely shy and unadaptable to change, special needs, or severe attention issues. Those are about the only times I find that a private lesson tends to make a difference...at least at the pool I teach. Maybe if your pool has a class size of 10, I could see it making a difference to have the one on one. But in my pool, it's a ratio of three students to one teacher, and seven times out of ten, someone is absent out of that three.
At any rate, it seems kids learn in the down-time that it isn't their turn. Their brains have time to soak in the info they just received, and then inevitably, they practice it, either in their minds, or their bodies. They explore the water, and get more comfortable with it. In a private lesson, there isn't that down-time. It's just bam bam bam, moving from one skill to the next with little to no breaks. For a small child under five, this can be overwhelming and exhausting. Usually a 3-4 year old falls apart in about 15 minutes of a private lesson, if the parent expects the teacher to keep pounding one skill in after another, that is. If they get some down/play time in between skills, they last 20-25 minutes. In a group however, they tend to make the full half hour.
The other advantage to a group lesson is peer pressure. If one kid is doing the skill right, then the others imitate it. Give a lot of praise for one kid who puts his/her face in the water, next thing you know, they're all trying to put their face in the water. They all crave the praise. And believe me, I give it to them. I try and find at least one amazing thing each kid does for me during the lesson so they go home with at least one (usually more) moment where I praised him/her up to wazoo.
I dislike private lessons. And it's worse when the kid is lazy. This 9:30 child can do the stuff I want the child to. This child refuses and gets defiant because this child doesn't want to work. I've learned that the kid hates extra laps. So, when the kid refuses to do it "right" (meaning the way I know the kid can) I add extra laps of freestyle to the kid's lesson. The kid's at least messing with me less. But that doesn't mean I don't wake up anymore on Tuesdays with an overwhelming sense of dread. However, if I had this child in a group, at least, I could look forward to my 9:30 half-hour because there's bound to be another child in that group to make me smile. Not that I can't see the virtue of my 9:30 private lesson child...just not in the water. I'm at the point where I'm close to quitting my job because of this kid. Really.
There's my gripe for the night. Now I go to mentally prepare for being in the water from 9:30 in the morning till 8:00 tomorrow night. I hate Tuesdays.
I was supposed to have this week off from actually teaching swimming lessons. But we had a poop-related incident on a Tuesday past, and so we have some make-ups to do tomorrow. I thought the make-ups started at 10:30 and on into the afternoon. Apparently, I was wrong. So now...I have to still be there for my private lesson at 9:30 in the morning. I don't have a 10:00 group lesson...so in essence, I'll have to get out of the water for a half hour and back in. I hate teaching private lessons.
People automatically assume because their child is getting one on one in a swimming lesson that it is better instruction. They're wrong. Dead wrong. It's only good in certain circumstances...usually if a child is overly anxious about the water, extremely shy and unadaptable to change, special needs, or severe attention issues. Those are about the only times I find that a private lesson tends to make a difference...at least at the pool I teach. Maybe if your pool has a class size of 10, I could see it making a difference to have the one on one. But in my pool, it's a ratio of three students to one teacher, and seven times out of ten, someone is absent out of that three.
At any rate, it seems kids learn in the down-time that it isn't their turn. Their brains have time to soak in the info they just received, and then inevitably, they practice it, either in their minds, or their bodies. They explore the water, and get more comfortable with it. In a private lesson, there isn't that down-time. It's just bam bam bam, moving from one skill to the next with little to no breaks. For a small child under five, this can be overwhelming and exhausting. Usually a 3-4 year old falls apart in about 15 minutes of a private lesson, if the parent expects the teacher to keep pounding one skill in after another, that is. If they get some down/play time in between skills, they last 20-25 minutes. In a group however, they tend to make the full half hour.
The other advantage to a group lesson is peer pressure. If one kid is doing the skill right, then the others imitate it. Give a lot of praise for one kid who puts his/her face in the water, next thing you know, they're all trying to put their face in the water. They all crave the praise. And believe me, I give it to them. I try and find at least one amazing thing each kid does for me during the lesson so they go home with at least one (usually more) moment where I praised him/her up to wazoo.
I dislike private lessons. And it's worse when the kid is lazy. This 9:30 child can do the stuff I want the child to. This child refuses and gets defiant because this child doesn't want to work. I've learned that the kid hates extra laps. So, when the kid refuses to do it "right" (meaning the way I know the kid can) I add extra laps of freestyle to the kid's lesson. The kid's at least messing with me less. But that doesn't mean I don't wake up anymore on Tuesdays with an overwhelming sense of dread. However, if I had this child in a group, at least, I could look forward to my 9:30 half-hour because there's bound to be another child in that group to make me smile. Not that I can't see the virtue of my 9:30 private lesson child...just not in the water. I'm at the point where I'm close to quitting my job because of this kid. Really.
There's my gripe for the night. Now I go to mentally prepare for being in the water from 9:30 in the morning till 8:00 tomorrow night. I hate Tuesdays.
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