Our grandson and granddaughter spent a few days with us while our daughter worked extra hours to make extra money that would pay for her family vacation. My husband and I took the kids to the local pool and split up to take turns monitoring the little one at the kiddie pool and the older one in the big pool.
I was in the 3-foot deep section with my grandson, who although he thinks he is, is not a real swimmer yet. He jumped in. He swam three strokes. I high-fived him. He got out and jumped in again. This time he swam five strokes. He repeated this again and again and again. I held my breath when he swam his first 12 strokes on his own. TWELVE! Sure his form was terrible but a few lessons would fix that.
We went to get ice cream to celebrate. Graham saw his mom first. She had come to pick the kids up. She lifted Graham up, and kissed him and then congratulated him. She put Graham down and asked where June was. I told her she was with her grandpa and she started walking toward the kiddie pool.
Graham remembered something he wanted to tell her. He started to run after her. His clogs were wet. He was tired. The inevitable happened. Graham fell on the concrete and skinned his knee really badly. He got hysterical. (He is at that age when he worries that the blood will drain out of his body like the water empties in the bathtub.) He needed a Band-Aid to hold the blood inside. My daughter scooped him up and carried him to the First Aid Station, where the lifeguards cleaned his wound and covered it beneath a big Band-Aid.
But Graham is intense and he was overtired and generally does not do well with transitions and he had a great time with us and he loves his mom and it was time to leave and the booboo hurt and he cried and cried and cried.
We let him sob it out because we all know you cannot logic it once the emotions have crossed a certain line. You just have to wait it out.
To be continued…