Just Keep Swimming . . .

We went swimming this past Saturday for the first time this season.
And it was less enjoyable than expected.
Certainly, it wasn't the kids' faults.
It was mine.
I have expectations of swimming that are never met.
See, I swam competitively since I was eight.
Before you get all excited, thinking perhaps this is the blog of an Olympic hopeful, let me say, no.
I was not that good.
I wasn't really very good at all.
Lots of people beat me at every meet.
But I loved it. 
The comradery with my swimmates.  The feel of the water (even that one summer when it was really cold for the entire season).  Flying through the water, flipping, spinning, twirling.  Floating.

I want to empart this on my kids.
To show them how swimming is one of the most joyous, invigorating, spiritual things . . . to me.

But it doesn't ever turn out like that.
The boys refuse to put their faces in.
And they won't let me take them out to the deep end -- which is only 5 feet -- even if I'm holding them.
Olivia can swim and seems to really enjoy it, but she won't listen to me. 
Even for just a minute.  To show her one thing.  Or play with her.
It's frustrating.

And Chad doesn't like swimming.  At all.
But he still gets in and plays with the kids.  {that's a great thing, too}
With three kids though (and two who cannot swim), I feel like I have to be the lifegaurd. 
I don't get to go experience the water in a way that I long to.
So selfish, isn't it?
Yep.
I'm going to have to change my attitude.
This season we will hopefully be able to visit the pool more often.
And maybe the boys will get more comfortable with it.
If I show how fun it is, they'll hopefully like it too.

{Sigh}
This being a grown up thing is kinda tough sometimes.