Land o'Lessa

Last week, The Pup did the unthinkable.

She turned 12.
TWELVE.
Really, what did I do to deserve this?!

So flash back to a couple years ago, in fifth grade, where the Pup discovers a desperate desire to learn to play the french horn. We talk to the band leader at the elementary school, and the one who teaches Jr. high and High School, and are told to start her on Trumpet. Flash back to two years of OMGLOUD while she not only learns it, but this year – lands the coveted first chair in her 6th grade band.

But still – STILL. The longing for the horn…. OH how she wanted to play the French Horn. Ms. S. told her that it would take private lessons, as making the switch is not very easy, and not all Trumpet players can become French Horn players. Ms. S plays trumpet, and does not play the French Horn, so she knows of what she speaks. The Pup looked at her mournfully, and sighed that it would be ok, she knew we couldn’t afford the lessons, so she’d just stick with the Trumpet.

INORITE?! SIGH.

So, I did what every mother on the planet would do. I made the call. I called Ms. S. and arranged a meeting with her, without telling the Pup. We spoke of the difficulties, and the challenges, and the possibilities. And we came up with a plan: I’d get the Pup lessons all summer, we’ll rent the French Horn for the summer, and the pup’s bandmates would be none the wiser – if she can make the switch (according to her summer teacher, who will tell it true) she will. If not, she’ll return to Trumpet in the fall, and we’ll know which horn she was meant to play. She loves the trumpet too – so it’s win-win, really.

Of course – I told the pup none of this. I sent in the cash to the teacher for the rental, without putting an instrument on the list – Ms. S was in the loop, of course. Then, on the first morning I got to see the little brat after her birthday (she was on the 6th grade camping trip ON her birthday. SOB) we had this conversation:

Me: Oh, by the way. I’m not renting you a trumpet for the summer. Sorry.
Her: WHAT? But Mom! You already paid!!!
Me: Sorry, i decided not to.
Her: …did you buy me one? (Not even hopeful)
Me: Pfft. You know I can’t afford that.
Her: DRAMATICSIGH I know. I can’t even get lessons.
Me: I can too afford lessons. So I’m not renting you a trumpet.
Her: …what? I don’t understand….
Me: I rented you a French Horn.
Her: But… I TOLD MS S. WE WERE RENTING A TRUMPET.
Me: I told her we were renting a French Horn.
Her: BUT I TOLD HER A TRUMPET YESTERDAY
me: but _I_ told her last week…
Her: (finally dawns that I’m not fucking with her -well, much) OH MY GOD I LOVE YOU.
Me: I am pretty fuckin’ awesome, I know. Pick up the French Horn. Your private tutor will be calling next week.
Her: (noisy squeals only a dog could hear, excitement, hugs, BESTBIRTHDAYEVER, off to school)

So. This is how our summer will be:

God help us all.

Spent the day at the swim meet – working the timer table, and cheering on all the kids.

Here – you cheer too!

The pup got:
4th – 50 backstroke
10th – 50 Freestyle
5th – 100 IM – 3 seconds off her time AND a ducky.
7th – 50 breaststroke

(advantages to being at the timer table – getting overall results before the kids. hee!)

Thanks to peppermist for videotaping for me! You rock!

And no, this time I don’t mean “Holidays”! No, this time it’s all about the Pre-Teen Pup, and her swimming. For the next six months she will be in the pool, thinking about the pool, talking about the pool, dreaming about the pool, and working her hardest to shave time off her her best race each and every time she gets in the pool and competes. It’ll be all backstroke this, and breaststroke that and freestyle splash n dash and omg the butterfly my poor shoulders, block starts, flip turns and streamline, streamline, streamline! It’ll be new suits, team suits, goggles that fall off in the middle of races, adjustments, cheers and even some tears. It’ll be fights with coach and adoration of coach and promises of ice cream for all DQs. (In our family, a DQ – disqualification, gets DQ – Dairy Queen!) It’ll be sauna like temperatures in the pool, videos and pictures, tired swimmers and exhausted mommies.

In short? It’ll be a blast!
(…mostly… ha!)

I’ve been doing this Swimmer Support role since my sister was on the High School swim team. I was down on deck, counting down the endless laps for the 500 freestyle for her, delivering her inhaler, and wearing a shirt that declared me “J’s sister!” next to my mom who wore a shirt that said “J’s mom!” while she ran around in a shirt over her suit that said “I’m J!”

Her heart was broken when my older two showed zero interest in swimming other than for fun. Then came the Pup, who dove in last year with Auntie and all the cousins and hasn’t looked back – much to my sister’s delight. It just wasn’t quite right without my being in the stands, apparently!

Last year The Pup wanted to beat her cousin in just ONE THING – though he had a year’s previous experience and as a male tends to just be stronger and faster. In the end, though, she prevailed. She got an “Honor Time” certificate for her backstroke – which is a 4th place team finish. Her cousin got several good times and medals, but they were in his SECOND year, not his first like the Pups, so that satisfied that goal.

This year, her goals are all about times. She has an AMAZING breaststroke, which is something that just sort of clicked for her toward the end of last season, and her backstroke is still very strong. Freestyle is strong, her butterfly is coming along, and we’re all about beating last years times for personal best. She also has her eyes on the times of the High School Champ of my Sister’s generation – who FINALLY saw one of her records come down just this year! She knows she won’t be able to hit those until High School, but she’s DETERMINED to be ready to destroy the record board by then.

I believe she can do it.

But most importantly – SHE believes she can do it, and I’ll sit in the uncomfortable bleachers, sweating like a pig in the humid 12930182 heat for the next 6 months and all the years following, and cheer myself hoarse for hours on end to help her get there. After all, lookit that face – could YOU resist?

Yeah, no.
Me either.

GO PIRANHAS!