Bob-N-Float Fridays

I promised you this some days ago, but since my washer qualifies as a model engineered to fit in Ken and Barbie's pink condo, I got myself tangled up in pre-company laundering rotations that kept me conveniently away from my computer. This whole blogging business feels like homework, although I DO like the sound and responsiveness of my laptop keys. That's a perk that'll keep me going.

I may have mentioned that every Friday is swim day for the PE kids at Westview. Tim, who has suddenly discovered within himself the ability to take all things in stride and look for the positive in the events of his life, was less concerned about navigating that first day than I had anticipated. He was way less nervous than I was, I can tell you that. Two things; he's terribly bashful, AND his version of swimming does not run along the lines of say, a Michael Phelps sort of end result. We recently went to the San Diego Zoo and those of you who had noses glued to the underwater viewing glass at the hippo display will recall that one of the hippos had his forelegs resting on an underwater rock as a stabilizing factor, whilst his back legs were afloat along with his ample backside. Just his little ears and eyes were above water, giving off a blissfully relaxed, near-napping attitude. This would be more akin to Tim's version of swimming.

When we badger him to get in our lovely pool, a pool where you can see the bottom very clearly without the application of rubber-rimmed goggles, he complains that his imagination gets the better of him in the deep end and all he can think about are sharks, which increases his breathing rate to uncomfortable levels. So, he "swims" back and forth across the shallow end, a lackluster event at best, simply for the fact that it takes all of one hop and a single arm flail to get from one side to the other.

You can see why I was nervous.

Happily, Tim's special ed team is absolutely stellar and makes accommodations for some of his anxieties. When asked if he would mind changing in a locker room with all the other boys, he didn't even let the sentence get finished before barking a surprisingly firm, "YES." Usually, his responses start with a head scratch and a "Welllllll," but he was definitely solid on his ideas about this one. So, they generously made provisions for him to change in a private, poolside bathroom; one of those that has a potty & sink and locking door. He can change there on ALL PE days, and I'm telling you, had I known such an option was available when I was in high school, I would have seriously comtemplated hailing myself as autistic as well, just to avoid the trauma of the high school locker room.

The first day he used the room was NOT a swim day, as it fell on a Wednesday, which is Football Day. He got in there, discovered the floor awash in leftover swimming puddles from some previous offender and looked in vain for a hook, a flat, dry surface of some sort to put his things on. Nada. He couldn't even use the door handle as a makeshift safety zone, because the more aggressive contingency of San Diego ants were staking claims all around the door frame and knob, as well as the sink. After waggling his legs out of his pants whilst hopping one socked foot after the other atop his unlaced shoes (with his backpack hoisted on his back, mind you), he opted for hanging his pants over the edge of the sink, not realizing there was a bit of swill left in there just waiting for the absorbing agents of an unsuspecting pair of jeans. He managed to hobble through the rest of his dressing routine, tie up his chlorine-sopped laces, stick all his stuff in his locker and was able to report later that the rest of the time was pretty fun, aside from requisite scrunches and sprints on the football field. Only, when he went to put his pants back on, and here, with typical Tim Demonstration Maneuvers, he stuck his hip out Betty Boop style, slapped his rump and said, "They were totally wet, RRRRRRRRRight HERRRRRE," blinking and rolling his "r"s for effect. But as I said, he's taking all these things in stride and not sweating it. Which is good. It's a broadening of his spirit that we are all happy to see. He's turning into an infinitely patient and calm individual.

"Bob-n-Float Friday" actually went relatively well for him, except that he mourned always being last at every event. That, and despite the two of us being the only ones in the whole upstairs of our house, he leaned closer to me, put his hand to one side of his mouth and whispered, "Oh, and, uh, my nipples really hurt afterwards." After some discussion, we concluded that this may have been the result of kickboard friction plus excessive amounts of chlorine on his poor sensitive skin. You can be assured that I beat a hasty retreat from his room at the first polite opportunity, sought out the farthest opposite corner of the house and indulged in as loud a chuckling session as I dared. I came frightfully close to wetting myself.

Ahhhh, Tim, Tim, Tim. Every day, such a sweet addition to my life. I checked with his swim teacher, and she said he's really doing fine; definitely the caboose of the pack, but she loves having him in her class; he's kind to others and takes her instruction and immediately improves. Of course, since he's starting from a leisurely float, there's pretty much nowhere to go but forward......

Til the next installment,
Candy