E'mo Take

So the littlest one just turned two, but in terms of cultural awareness is lightyears ahead of where the boys were at the same age.  Good Berkeley wannabes that we are, when the boys were two there was little household awareness of candy, nor television, nor any other corrupting influence that would lead them on the road to perdition.  But playdates that consist of two hours of nintendo are hard to battle, candy so omnipresent, and the power of kids whining so grating, that we've gradually succumbed, and our boys will now watch TV and consume things with the word "Froot" on the label.  And Aoife has learned.  She will now elbow her way past her brothers to get to the TV, and demand 'can'y' if she sees anything that seems even vaguely reminiscent of sweets (things prompting her to demand candy include, but are not limited to: novelty erasers, lego bricks, a brightly colored roll of duct tape, an orange vase, and a book about flower fairies).  She has learned about Sesame Street, and now she worships at the alter of Elmo (or E'mo, as he's called in these parts, who actually does some pretty good work on youtube - I highly recommend Elmo and Feist singing '1-2-3-4').  When it came time for her birthday, Aoife was not able to correctly answer her new age (two - she was still convinced she was one) or identify her gender (she will not acknowledge that girls exist - everyone, including her, is a boy), but she was quite clear that for her birthday, she wanted two things: puh-puh boons (trans: purple balloons) and E'mo take (Elmo cake).  Happy to divide the labor, I purchased a dozen purple balloons (with purple strings even) while Lisa performed the easier task and made an Elmo cake.  As you can see below, it's pretty good.  Shame I don't have a picture of the balloons - they were spectacular. 

Not the Stingray that killed Steve Irwin

So the boys belong to a swim team. And I mean belong in more than just a "pay the money, get the lessons" kind of way, but I'll elaborate on that in a minute. I used to swim a lot when I was a kid, leading up to a point where I was training 12-14 times a week, plus meets. I burned out, which happened to coincide with moving to the US, and more on point, to a small school that had no swim team, and a climate that didn't allow for much swimming when school was in session anyway. I was pretty good, but never the best, and I remember how the coaches always had extra time for the kids who were really, really good. Which I guess I never really thought much about, other than thinking that's how things were, and if you wanted more coaching you'd better swim faster.

So my kids are not excellent swimmers. Part of it is our fault - we started them pretty late - and part of it is that bell curve distributions of talent mean that you can move several standard deviations either direction from the mean. But they try hard, and they've improved vastly. I no longer fear their drowning, and I'm incredibly proud that they keep trying even knowing that they're not likely to win a race or go to county or get a gold time.

So, circling back to the first sentence, the boys really belong to this swim team. They may not be the fastest, but they're treated no differently than those who are. The coaches are largely local high school kids, and they're nice to the swimmers in a way that no-one expects teenagers to be. They're kind, and encouraging, and patient and they coach the kid who is lining up in heat 10, lane 7 all the way up to the block and cheer him through every turn and to the end of each race. The senior coaches lead by example, and their expectations are based on listening, improving and trying hard - they don't let the slow kids slack off, which is important too - they respect them enough to hold them accountable. And they coach things like congratulating the kid in the lane next to you and cheering for your teammates in the other heats, stuff that goes beyond making your kid a better swimmer, stuff that shows you that they understand that being a good kid is as important as being a fast swimmer.

Anyway, the head coach of the team is a guy named Brad. He's been tied to the pool since he was younger than my kids are now, and last Friday was his 30th birthday. There was a meet on Friday, and a dance (a "Neon Disco" actually) afterwards, and some of the folks asked Lisa to make a cake to celebrate. And so here it is, in all of it's neon glory. As you my have guessed from the blog post title (and from the giant gum paste and rice-crispie treat Neotrygon Kuhlii atop the cake) the swim team is the Stingrays, with the ginger beard a hat-tip to Brad's facial stylings. Happy birthday to Brad, and thanks to all of the coaches for making the team what it is.