Islands in the Stream

When I look back at pictures of my kid from this summer, a few thoughts make themselves particularly loud in my brain.

This kid was made for the pool. I don't know if she's ever going to be a competitive swimmer, another Janet Evans or Dara Torres or Michael Phelps or Mark Spitz, but this is a kid who will always be at her very best when she is in the water. Her signature fragrance, for all of her life, will always contain a hint of chlorine. Eau de l'eau, if you will.

I am very excited to get her into swimming lessons this fall and winter -- maybe more than she is, even -- because by this time next year, she will be swimming by herself. She really, really wants to swim on her own, and I think that watching her learn to do that, to finally ditch the bubble for good and just go, will be tremendously satisfying.

Better call the Y and find out if I will be allowed to observe lessons, and if they'll let me take pictures. If not, I better learn pretty quick how to get good pictures without a flash. Because I have confidence that she'll be able to swim a full lap by Christmas, and when she does, I want to be able to capture every stroke. This might be a bigger deal to me than her first steps.

Whenever we start looking for a new house -- which won't be any time soon, but then again it might not be too long, since she starts kindergarten in just two years -- we'd better look for a place with a pool. Perhaps on a nice tropical island somewhere, where we can swim all year long.

Which reminds me, I'd better play the lottery this week.