A Small Dose of Reality...

... is sometimes difficult to swallow.

I was THAT mom today. You know, the one who raised her voice just a little too loudly at the kid's sporting event. The one who insisted that she knew best. The one you didn't want to look at, so you put both hands over your eyes... but opened your fingers just enough to peek through and see what she was going to do next.

Yeah, I was that mom.

And I'm embarrassed.

The school is in the process of starting its swim club next quarter, and the girls had their tryouts today. Riley made it. Sheridan didn't. I was completely caught off guard. Most of my friends who've seen Sheridan swim were as surprised as I was.

I kinda snapped.

See, last week when the director had the swim club meeting she told the parents that in order to make the swim team, the kids needed to be able to swim 50 meters non-stop (2 laps) .... with the clarification that they could swim any stroke.

No problem. Both the girls had taken private lessons in Israel to the tune of $30 + / lesson ... for almost 2 years. Sure it was a high price to pay, but now they're little fishies. The thousands of dollars was very well spent.

Or so I thought.

Riley jumped in the water today, and effortlessly swimming freestyle, glided across the pool. The coach looked over at me and smiled, and by the time she finished her second lap, he had already filled out the paperwork and added her name to the team roster.

Sheridan swam next, doing a combination breast stroke with a flutter kick. I have no idea where she learned it, though off she went, somewhat awkwardly to the deep end and back. But she did it... exactly what the director said she needed to do in order to make the team.

However, she didn't make the team. Moreover, I was told she needed swim lessons. Swim lessons to help her get across the pool. Which she can already do... quite effortlessly (though admittedly, it doesn't always look pretty). I mean seriously, she's 4 years old. She swims pretty darn well. Just not good enough for the swim team, which, I thought, was supposed to HELP her with the stroke mechanics.

So before I could turn on the filter from my brain to my mouth, I snapped at the coach, telling her that I was not happy. Through clenched teeth I loudly stated that she did exactly what she was asked, and it was not fair that she didn't make the team. I then marched over to the side, pulled Sheridan from the water, put her in her seat, and obnoxiously walked over to the athletic director where I boldly expressed my displeasure. The response? They want to see mechanics over endurance. It's great that Sheridan can swim multiple lengths of the pool, but since she can't swim one stroke perfectly, she's only eligible for swim lessons... until she masters freestyle, when they'll then put her on the team.

I had to take a breather. I knew I was going to say something that I didn't mean, and I could feel my face get flushed as my frustration intensified. I sat down and started talking to a few friends who waited to watch the girls. I mumbled. I vented. I unleashed my disappointment in the semantics of the expectations at the original swim club meeting. I was upset that the director watched the girls practicing yesterday for 20 minutes, yet never said anything to me about Sheridan's strokes.

And then it hit me like a ton of bricks... I was THAT mom. The one who annoys everyone in the stands because she's coaching the kids from the sidelines. The one who knows better than the coach does, because, "Hey, she's my superstar... you're JUST the coach." And I knew that I needed to swallow a big spoonful of pride and let this one go. Because honestly, they were ... gulp... right. Sheridan is 4... she won't be 5 for another few months ... and if we were almost anywhere else in the world, she'd STILL be in preschool. Why am I trying to push her so hard? She's a darn good swimmer for her age, but she's ... still ... only ... 4 ... years ...old.

With my tail not-so between my legs, I boldly walked back over to the athletic director and swim coach and gently explained that I needed to be an advocate for my kid, yet I deeply apologized if I was rude. Seeing the tears welling in my eyes, the coach quickly said, "Don't worry... I've seen you at other events and I know you're usually pretty normal." Whew. A quick discussion about private lessons, another apology, big hugs with my fishies, and it was time to go home.

To work on homework. Because even though she's only 4, she has more homework than her first grade sister. Maybe having the afternoons free won't be such a bad idea...




Here's Sheridan during her tryouts. I narrowed it down to just 16 seconds... cause hey... she does the exact same thing from one end of the pool to another...




Here's Riley's swimming too. She dove in ... which for her, is a HUGE accomplishment. She used to look like a cat splaying her arms out as she attempted to dive in head first...