The things we do for love

I can't swim. Legend has it that as a toddler, I was found floating face-down in the lake where relatives owned property and we spent many a summer day. I naturally don't remember that, but my sub conscience seems to. Or at least that's what I blame for the many swim lessons I've taken not sticking.

I took swim lessons as a child. Didn't stick.

I took swim lesson as an adult. Didn't stick.

Nope, I can't swim to save my life. Not even a doggy paddle.

When I learned that Bubby would be attending swim lessons during my recent visit, though, I was determined to not let being a loser non-swimmer stop me from enjoying some time in the pool with my oldest grandson.

And it didn't.

Together we splashed, dove, attempted to touch bottom, and did a few practice rounds of "chicken...star...rocket" moves he'd gleaned from the day's swim lesson.

 

 

 

At his age, Bubby has no idea Gramma can't swim. As he gets older, though, I'm pretty sure he'll figure out why Gramma won't go in the deep end.

Unless, of course, I attempt another round of swim lessons ... and this time they stick.

Photos courtesy of Megan.

Today's question:

How would you rate your swimming skills?