After the school year finally ended the kids took swimming lessons at the pool. This was a little bit painful because the lessons started at 8:30, meaning that we're finally done with school, but we still have to set the alarm to get out of the house everyday. However, we felt that getting lessons in early would make swimming the rest of the summer better for everyone, outweighing the pain of early rising.
At this point I will insert my somewhat personal and traumatic memories of swimming lessons. Our classes had clever names, like minnows, flying fish and sharks. At the end of the session you were given a color-coded certificate indicating whether or not you passed. I can recall the summer I received the non-passing certificate--I would not be a flying fish. Heartbreak. Despair. I'm the first-born with all the trappings--high-achieving, perfectionist, independent. How could I NOT pass? And yet, being the first-born, I was also not allowed to show my disappointment (I see therapy in this girl's future!).
So the kids' last lessons arrive with the ever-important papers telling me whether or not they should move up to the next level, and I am nervous for them. Honestly, I don't think they care.
Let's just say they all did swimmingly.
Riley learning rhythmic breathing:
Cory kicking and paddling his way down the pool: