My daughters’ sport of choice for the last two years has been swimming. We’re in the throws of the swim season now. This is a fortunate choice of sport since they inherited their father’s long lean physique. All they have to do is push off from one side of the pool and they are half way across before you can blink.
First born, practice dive off the block
Second born, practice dive off the block
All this aside, I might have preferred an indoor sport. Because when your child swims? You are outside. In Florida. And Florida does not acknowledge that it is now October. After the swim meet we had this last Saturday, I’m proud to state that I’m down 3 dress sizes.
All the parents have to volunteer for some aspect of the swim meets. Because I am nothing if not smart, I jumped on the bandwagon and immediately signed up for Tent Mom for the Jr/Sr group. The job of Tent Mom is the parent whose job it is to wrangle the kids in that age group and make sure they get to their lanes in the right order when the event is up. I chose the Jr/Sr group because the kids are all taller than I am. I cannot lose them. As opposed to, say, keeping track of the 8 year olds, which is rather like herding grasshoppers. And besides, I get to carry a clipboard. And look official-like.
Like the job description says, I get to stay under the tent. That is, when my kid’s are not in the starting line up.
There are those poor saps who were left with no other job than to stand out in the blazing sun for THREE TO FOUR hours and hold the stop watch and hand out ribbons. And we are a part of a league that believes that EVERYONE GETS A RIBBON. The ribbons do state “first”, “second”, all the way down to “eighth”. They would go further if we had more swimming lanes.
My Jr/Sr team (which includes my own teenager) netted a couple of 1st place ribbons. Very proud moments, to be sure.
One part of the job description that no one warned me about is that of Doughnut Police. More than once I had to knock a Krispy Kreme out of a kid’s hand as I knew their event was just seconds away. There is nothing that clears a pool faster than vomit during a backstroke. Well. That’s not altogether true. I can think of one other pool clearing culprit.
Let’s hear it for all those parent volunteers. Of all sports. We’re the ones who ought to be netting the ribbons. Amen?