Three months after his dramatically embarrassing pool party rescue, Ike has officially started swim lessons. His skeptical stubbornness has also hit levels unknown, as he is bound and determined to Be Difficult at every class for no reason other than...oh who the hell knows. It's like his dinnertime shenanigans, just soggier.
Now I have witnessed firsthand that this kid can do just fine in the water while supported by one of those backpack floats, and will happily doggy paddle from spot to spot without a wet-hair-care in the world. He'll blow bubbles in the bathtub and float on his back and mimic all the kicking and arm motions of "real swimming."
He will do zero of those things at his lessons, at least when specifically asked to. He has a friend from school in the same group who is an enthusiastic participant, and he'll mimic that boy's waiting-on-the-steps kicking/splashing/daredevil stunts on the railings, but as soon as it's his turn with the instructor he goes into full-on NOPE mode. He'll kick, then stop kicking, and once he's reminded to kick, he snaps them rigidly in place and stays stiff as a board while his (suppppppper nice) instructor hauls him uselessly around the pool. When asked to move his arms he will pointedly bring his hand up precisely two inches out of the water before putting it back down, like he's playing the piano and adding a fancy wrist flourish.
When they swim past me, he gives me the smuggest, most magnificent side-eye I have ever seen outside of a Rihanna GIF. He knows exactly what he's doing and clearly enjoying every second of this thoroughly pointless power struggle.
Instructor: Put your chin in the water like this.
Ike: *braces self up to keep chin as far away from the water as possible*
Of course, if you ask him about swimming lessons literally any other time than the 30-minute lesson block, he will tell you he likes them and the pool is fun and blah blah fiveyearoldcakes. Next week there will be consequences for any shenanigans and related malarky.
His brothers are doing very well at their lessons, as expected -- Noah's a naturally strong swimmer and Ezra's just so happy to be doing literally anything at the YMCA because it's all just so FUN FUN FUN that he completely forgets about the out-of-character, second grade 'tude he's been trying on at home, and reverts back into his sunny ball-of-boundless-optimism self.
(At least until Ike takes his towel no that was myyyyyyy towellll Iiiiiiyyyyyykkkkke why do you evennnnnnnn existtttttt if not to make me sufffffferrrr soooooo)
Although last night I found this note taped to the outside of Ezra's door, which I will put right up there with Ike's side-eye in the "magnificent" category:
"Mom if you
let me play on
the phone's I will
Lave you. And
give you Lave notes and give
me 8 boller's
pleses in a Bag."
(Close-up of sad, spiky-haired child begging for 8 bollers in a bag.)
So now I know that my child's Lave for me is entirely conditional on screen time and will cost me exactly 8 bollers. And a bag.