Having a 4.5 year old in the house again has been… so many things. It’s crazy what happens when your own kids are grown and out of the house and you don’t have to plan schedules around their interests anymore.
My husband and I have been empty-nesters for six years, so when a young kid is added to the mix, it’s quite an adjustment to say the least.
I guess it’s like riding a bike, as the saying goes, though. I haven’t ridden one of those in a very long time, either, and if I got on one today, I’d probably fall over, crash, or otherwise land on my face a few times before muscle memory kicked in and I could peddle smoothly again.
That’s what we’re finding with “second-parenthood”.
We’re starting to remember all the little things and working as a team, but holy cow is it challenging and completely different from when we did it the first time. (And, of course, rewarding and all those gooey things)
Swim Lessons
Preschool, over the summer, takes many field trips to museums, parks… and the panic-inducing pool.
As a kid, I went to the neighborhood, public pool all the time during break and have some great memories… BUT I also have some not-so-great memories.
We’re not going to talk about the high dive trauma. The getting to the top of the seemingly 2,000-foot-above-water-level plank-of-death and being too scared to jump but too embarrassed to climb back down over all the kids stranded on the ladder. (I jumped, if you’re interested, and got the biggest wedgie, a bloody nose from trying to hold it as the cement water surface ripped my hand away, being torpedoed a million feet to the very bottom where I twisted my ankle, and then thought my lungs would explode because the wind knocked out of me so I had no air to get back up.)
The main moment I remember is when I was probably eleven and a kid jumped from the edge right on top of me. I was pushed under him and his mob of friends trying to wrestle a ball away. My cheek scraped across the bottom and I couldn’t get out from under them. Being the youngest of three and the only girl, I did what any “little sister” would do and drove my heel between the legs of the closest person, effectively shoving their balls so far up their abdomen they were probably never able to have kids.
He, then, did the work for me by screaming and pushing all the other boys away, accusing them of causing the pain.
I popped up out of the water- bleeding and gasping for air - and looked around to find absolutely no one bothered by my near-death experience. The horde of boys had moved on, my mom was still reading her book by the umbrella, the lifeguard was looking the other way, and everyone was going about their own business.
My only thought was, “I could have drowned and no one would have noticed.”
Sure, if my body floated to the surface, face down, arms out, I’m sure someone would have probably poked me to see if I was ok, but how long would I have been like that before I was found and given CPR?
Having that experience in mind, I did what any other person would do.
After considering my options of keeping him home that day, setting up near the concession stand with a disguise on, or creating a weather machine to only produce thunder thus closing the pool, I enrolled him in swim lessons at the local YMCA.
Luckily, there was an opening in a session starting in a few days, and even though we’d miss Kindermusik two weeks in a row, I felt like it was a sacrifice worth making.
Last night was the first class.
How do I describe what happened?
First, one of his Preschool friends was in the class, too, so he immediately felt at ease. Unfortunately, it was the wild kid who never listens to parents/teachers and thinks hitting, running, and pushing is a love language.
Sigh.
Wrangling them when the lifeguards called everyone over to start was a task, but soon they were all descending the ladder into the shallow end.
I knew there was going to be a problem when my kid was third in line, took one step down, turned around and went to the back of the line. He’s always calling “Line Leader” even when it’s just me, so I knew things wouldn’t end well. They all filed in and it was his turn again… he put his hands on the supports, lifted his leg, then turned and ran screaming my direction.
Oof.
Luckily, the head lifeguard was close by and scooped him up before he could get very far and sweet-talked him into the pool. He clung to her like a baby koala to it’s mother. She slowly lowered her body, him attached, into the water, talking him through everything and letting him know he was tall enough to put his feet down (he didn’t) and that she wasn’t going to let him get hurt (he didn’t believe her).
In essence, she was a saint.
It all went to hell when the scary pool noodle came out.
You’d have thought it was a snake.
There was no way on god’s green earth he was taking his hands off her to hold onto that. No way, no how.
That’s when the screaming started again.
Very casually, I walked to the edge and slid in, peeling him off of her and shushing as best I could. He assumed I was going to rescue him from the chasm of death and calmed down, but only until he realized I wasn’t taking him out to safety.
I’ll spare the details but bribes of candy and promises of extra screen-time were made and life in the water settled down.
It was during that time that I found myself saying, “Sometimes we have to do things scared before getting to the fun.”
Life Lessons
Man, did that phrase surprise me.
Us Gen X’ers are pros at problem solving, especially in crisis. I call it the “Stand By Me Moments.” Those times when you’re out in the middle of nowhere, on a quest that no one told you to go on, and you wade through a bog and come out with leeches all over your body. (If you haven’t seen the movie, I highly recommend it) You pushed through pain, fear, sadness, sickness, doubt, etc. and act. You figured it out… usually because there wasn’t a grown up there to help, but also because we knew that something needed to be done and it was up to us to do it. You set your own feelings aside and pushed forward.
Suck-it-up-buttercup.
No pain, no gain.
Toughen up and tough it out.
Pull yourself up by the bootstraps.
There have been so many times in my life - more than I could count - when I was faced with a situation that terrified me but had to do it anyway. I still do, honestly. “Self care” is something I don’t really understand. I go to work sick or in pain. I push through hunger. I don’t wait for help.
But, I’m in my 50’s now, and as a late-diagnosed ADHD’er, I’ve learned that anxiety and depression are things that, occasionally, we need to stop and think about. They are our body’s way of talking to us and I haven’t been listening.
Sure, my body is stupid and lies to me ALL the time, but it should at least be a little red notification on the upper right-hand side of my brain.
Do things scared? Absolutely. But that little warning signal is there to help us assess and proceed cautiously. Acknowledging the fear is an important step that I’ve been missing.
Do I think that kids these days (you have to say the with the old man voice, even in your head) are “soft”? Totally. Do I think they use anxiety as an excuse and even a crutch? 100%. Are their feelings valid? Of course… And here’s where the BUT comes… but there is more after validating those feelings and I call it “action.”
Gen X ignored their feelings (and probably still do) and jumped right into the “get it done” part.
Is it healthy? I don’t know.
Does it work? 99% of the time.
So, when I soothed this young, scared-but-not-really-in-any-danger child, I forgot the part where he had big emotions that I was shitting all over.
To him, it felt like the end of the world and I was dragging him there. I had skipped the step of acknowledging his feelings. Showing him that they were valid and important. And then walking him through how to move through it and take control of the situation in a healthy way.
As Alanis sang, “I am aware now” and will use that newfound knowledge to do better tonight when we have day two of six lessons.
So, you may be wondering how it all turned out.
We got past the fear, found our feet touched the ground, and the wall was safety. There was a tad bit of trying to kick our feet behind us and make big splashes, and a whole lot of confidence building.
By the end of class, he didn’t want to get out of the pool… sure, he had confined himself to the steps in the corner, but I call it a win.
When we got home, after a bath, we snuggled into bed and I told him how proud I was of him and how brave he was.
He woke up this morning asking if we could go to the pool again.