Sunday Morning at the Y

Glad to report that neither my son nor my husband disliked the parent-child swim class that I signed them up for as much as I had anticipated.  It was 50/50 as to who was going to be more annoyed with me for this, but they had a great time. 

I did it to avoid a repeat of last winter, which felt both endless and claustrophobic.  This was largely because we had a total lack of foresight and planned no structured activities for a highly energetic toddler.  That was sort of a bad equation, especially in what was then our 700 square foot apartment with an infant too.  So, anyway, I figured a weekly Sunday morning class of sorts would get us all up and out for a while.  In my head, I had this great plan to tie in a nice family breakfast out in town, but let’s just say that was total disillusionment for a variety of reasons.  Maybe next week.

So this was our first trip to the local Y in town.  Very nice, if not a bit overwhelming with the amount of stuff you can sign up for.  It was pre-caffeine for me, so I didn’t trust my clouded judgement and decided to forego any other enrollment for now.

No photos to show of the big first swim class but not for lack of trying.  As I started to take out my camera, some obnoxious mother walked up to me and pointed right to a sign that gently reminded me no photography is allowed inside the Y.  Um, OK — are you the Hall Monitor or just frustrated with the apparent lack of authority in your life?  So, no shots to share, except for my son’s first membership card.  Three shots later (not out of vanity but a combination of technical error and closed eyes), he got his plastic.  We are now his guests for admission (we’re not members), which is sort of how life with kids feels anyway.