The Olympic Torch...

So, yo...  My kids rock at swimming lessons.  I had no doubt.  OK, I had a little doubt, but only because like little Pavlov’s dogs, they see a pool of water and have been conditioned to ask for their life jackets.  Listen, y’all there are three of them and one of me when RyGar is working… it’s a simple equation that sums up to floatation devices.  Period.

Not unlike my expectations, on Monday morning they asked for their jackets and then when I didn’t produce, they jumped on in the water anyway.  Luckily, their darling swim teachers, “Bekah and Maddy” were there to catch them.  And cheer for them.  See, this obviously isn’t Bekah and Maddy’s first rodeo.  Little sailors feed off of positive praise like cheering.

And so it has gone every day since.  They get drug around the pool on their backs and on their fronts.  They blow bubbles and submerge their little faces in the water and they jump off the wall like little monkeys while the rest of their nervous little Pre-K class turns their faces from monumental splashes.

I love it.

I could watch all day.

Ace, however, could not.  I try to keep him strapped in the stroller like this.

But he wants to swim too... soooo badly.  And sometimes I cave and let the little man have a tiny dip.  But as the sign says, no diving, little Acers.  Not yet.

These swim lessons are kind of our first “organized sport” so to speak, and the littles excel and kind of feed off of one another’s energy and smile and bob and splash.  It is so dang crazy to me to watch them out of my care.  They are little buddies.  Little warriors.  Little athletes.  Little independently determined and fearless souls.

The timing is awesome seeing as how I’m on a Michael Phelps / Ryan Lochte high, you know.  Ry and I stay up late to watch the prime time events after the kiddos are asleep and in true RyGar fashion, we’ve raised our hand to the square and pledged dedication to our role as parents of athletes.  We’ve discussed things like driving to every game and attending every meet and traveling for camps and moving to superior coaches if necessary (OK, that might be a titch bit extreme, but again, may I mention Miss Gabby Douglas?).  And our dedication is more than likely going to be tested because, duh… with Kael’s size, strength and aforementioned “hard head” and Dax Man’s speed, stealth and incredible cat-like landings, and Acer’s sheer will and determination to not just keep up with his big brothers but to tackle and wrestle them…. We’re bound to have at least one Olympian, right?

We’ll see. 

In the meantime, we'll sport our stars and stripes, baby.

And if we don’t… I will do my best to show the same fervor to any son of mine who chooses to join the chess club or lead the National Honors Society, because Lawd knows that my Olympic sport is talking.  My strongest muscle is my tongue/mouth/vocal cords and I continue to practice all day every day.   Oh if only a Gold could be won for blabbing stories, my friends.  You’d be looking at a World Record holder.  Perfect score.  Decorated champ. 

It’s been real, London.  Olympic Games 2020 – I hope you’re held in a rock star location.  We’ll be seein’ you!