Swimming Lessons and Stuff

Last week and the week before that, Andrew took swimming lessons. This is his fourth year taking lessons (the first year was mommy and me), and this year he really "got" it. I am proud to say that he can now officially swim. It's not exactly graceful and there's a lot of flailing and splashing, but at least he's swimming. (And before anyone says anything, I fully realize that this doesn't mean that he can swim alone. I have no intentions of tossing him in the pool and walking away.)

Andrew has taken swimming lessons every year from a friend of my family's. She always does an awesome job, and we're so thankful for her.

Getting ready for class.

Blowing bubbles (you know in case you can't figure out the obvious).

Ready to go under.

Practicing his back float (once again . . . obvious).

Practicing kicks.

Flutter kick, mermaid kick, frog kick . . . 

Jumping in and swimming to the side.

Swimming alone.

So swimming lessons are over, and now we just have to practice.

Patrick is out of town this week, which Andrew hates. So far he's been gone two nights, and Andrew has ended up in bed with me both nights. I'm hoping to get the bed to myself tonight.

Andrew's not the only one that hates it. Apparently, it's stressing Daisy out too. We ended up at the vet's office this morning because she is having some pretty serious stomach upset, and the conclusion (after a lot of expensive tests) is that she's very stressed . . . anyone know a good doggy psychiatrist? Because she really is a head case.