At the YMCA: Not What You Expect

Charlie asked to go swimming one afternoon earlier this week. I checked the YMCA webpage and saw that it was open for "adult lap swim" at 4pm so, after homework and a snack, off we went. Charlie hasn't requested a midday swim in awhile so this was a nice break in our usual routine.

Our usual boring, comforting routine both creates a sense of security (Charlie knows what to expect next---snack-rest-walk-black car-grocery store-dinner---and I can expect that he'll be feeling secure), but also a sense of being locked into a box. There've been some small signs of late that Charlie may be looking to vary our usual usual. He got his habitual four packs of sushi at the store the other day, ate two, put one in his lunchbox, and saved one for an afternoon snack. Only he didn't eat the afternoon snack pack so I put it in his lunchbox, where I found it yesterday afternoon. unopened.

And then, the unexpected trip to the pool where more of the unexpected met us. We were a few minutes early and, instead of charging in as he likes to, Charlie had to stand and wait. Waiting also was a family with three small children who were occasionally quite loud. I saw Charlie stiffen and said, not terribly loud myself, "too loud!". "Too loud!" said Charlie. Once in, via a side door (my letter and my post on looking for a few accommodations have been sent to the YMCA director, but am not sure what response there has been), we were quickly told that the deep end was off-limits---something about the drain covers. (Or some such.) The lifeguard pointed to a lane where Charlie would swim and he jumped in; a few seconds later, a swim instructor told me that he couldn't swim as no lifeguard was watching. I opened my mouth just as two lifeguards took their places and a dozen skinny children, aged about 7, sat down at the edge of the pool.

Charlie jumped in, grinning, and (something he generally doesn't do when he first gets in the pool) headed straight for the deep end. I ran over and told him to stop and turn back when he got to a blue floating rope and he readily complied and, over the course of walk-swimming several laps for 45 minutes, turned neatly around just before the rope. About halfway through, Charlie dunked himself under the water, came up for air and dunked himself in again. I swam, too; the water was slightly heated and light came in through the big windows.

Afterwards, we ascended three flights of concrete stairs, Charlie looking a bit consternated at first. Recalling the comments of a reader about the irony of restrooms for individuals with disabilities being on the third floor of the facility, I said "oxymoron" under my breath---there is an elevator, but it's not near the front entrance to the pool. Once in the restroom, I made a mental note to add a "PS" to my letter to the YMCA Director: If one does have (as we have been so far informed we have to, if I'm with Charlie and he needs to change his clothes) to use the restrooms for those with disabilities, it would be nice (and hygienic) to have a rack or something to place wet clothing and towels and the like upon. (Even just a chair.) Charlie gets himself dressed fine but two people, a swim bag, and some wet stuff in a restroom with only a sink to hang anything on means a bit of maneuvering.

In yet another round of the unexpected, Charlie gave the vending machine in the lobby a very serious perusal and requested a pack of Swedish fish. (After-effect of having your child on the gluten-free casein-free diet for years: He's never tasted the usual panoply of candy bars and cheese-fried crisp curls, and is, so far, not interested in starting.)

At home, Charlie proved the extent of his workout by requesting an early dinner. He pulled out a bag of brown rice, a departure from his usual staple, plain old white rice. It was an afternoon of pattern-breaking.

It's me, but I love the unexpected.