the abyss

i am a swim mom. for the uninitiated, a swim mom does not really swim. a swim mom is a mom whose kids swim. but it is so much more than that. i am a mom who has forgone any real social life so that i can drive my kids to and from swim practice…every single day. being a swim mom doesn’t require any real talents, which is good because mine are few and far in between, BUT is does require the ability to sit for extended periods of time and do nothing, at which i am exceptionally proficient. it also requires a large vehicle, to haul around a lot of soaking wet equipment and moldy towels, and i’m equally qualified for that as well.

so, if being a swim mom is so much *fun*, why do i do it? it’s because my beautiful daughter and my handsome son are very good at it.  actually, that’s a complete lie. my daughter is very good. my daughter is a wonderful athlete. she’s exceptionally focused and self-motivated. she made all A’s last report card and she swims every day after school for an hour and a half. the girl has got guns! and can eat like a horse with no repercussions. i would love to say she takes after me, but she’s completely daddy’s little girl. i’m the girl who took marching band in high school to get out of gym class.

my son…not so much. but, anything that big sister does, little brother wants to do too. which is good, because little brother desperately needs to find something that he is good at (besides being a stinker), if only to expend all his pent-up, little-boy energy which never seems to wane. so in our quest to find exactly what he is good at, we have already exhausted the following:

  • t-ball – he was more interested in picking daisies in the outfield and hugging his teammates. mommy had to tell him which direction to run after he hit the ball and practically pull him around the bases by the arm.
  • soccer – mommy coached kiddie co-ed soccer and learned a thankless lesson about meddling, yet completely uninterested in *really* helping, side-line parents (like get your fat ass out of your lawn chair and help me run some drills), which just reaffirmed her existing belief that most women are bitches, and is now scarred for life.
  • swimming – at his first meet, he went to the edge and peered in. “it’s too big, mommy,” he whispered. he refused to jump in when the gun went off and finished with an official time of “did not start.” and most recently, mommy, who volunteered to be a tent mom during meets, had to clean up the ready bench when robert (a teammate) peed on it while waiting for his event. at least it wasn’t number two.

so we continue to search for my son’s special talent. i know he has one. we just need to find it.  and hopefully it will not entail mommy having to pick up the excrement of his teammates. who knows. maybe when he grows up he’ll be in the marching band. mommy would be so proud.

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