Sleep Like Michael Phelps

Aidan victoriously finished up his spring session of swim lessons. He had made tremendous progress- he can now float on his belly, and back, however momentarily. He dives underwater without fear, although he is still mastering making bubbles via his nose. Most importantly, he is thrilled to be swimming. We have signed up for some private lessons, and I look forward to the day when he does flip turns.

Zoe has also accomplished a whole season of swimming with me. She no longer clings onto me with her little hands for dear life, and she will happily splash around in her floatation suit. While she gets mad when other people make her face wet, she is willing to jump into the pool 'like a baby' while I hold her hands. She is still too young for lessons, but in a two years, she too, will be occupied for 40 minutes at a time, so that I can go do laps myself.

Imagine with me, if you will. The year will be 2011, Zoe will be busy with Teacher Gina in her lesson, Aidan will be doing swim team, and I will be doing laps. It will be beautiful.

Not just during the lesson though, but afterwards: The children will be exhausted. They will need to sleep like Michael Phelps, eat like Michael Phelps. However, I do not want them to meet Mary Jane like Mr. Phelps had done.

Randomly, I have three more nights in my own bed, then I am off to Denver. Strangely, the anxiety had lifted (please God, let me pass, or this will be so embarrassing...) And now, I am mildly guilt ridden about my upcoming 'vacation.' It will be three days, two nights of 'me' time. It will be quiet, serene, no interruptions, no weird questions to answer, no snuggles, no kisses. I am going to miss them.