The other day I was on a bike ride with the kids, and for the first time since they were born, I think, I had to actually dial my gear up a level, in order to keep up with them.
It felt like a big deal. At least, my thighs thought so.
In other growing up news, my youngest at age 10 is finally able to pass the swim test with confidence. This means that when we go to public swim at the community pool, I am able to act as a “remote supervisor” instead of an “arm’s length at all times” supervisor.
So far I am still going in with them, because I do enjoy a good dip in the pool. I can horse around with them a bit, or even take time to do a few lengths (ha ha, ONE LENGTH, who am I kidding).
But at any time that I want, I could be sitting at the side of the pool, keeping my hair safe from chlorine, reading a novel, while my kids splash around on their own. BLISS.
And in even better news, we have reached that glorious hour when all three children are able to shower on their own, with no supervision. We trust them to go in there, get themselves more-or-less clean, and emerge again safely. They complain about it, especially my youngest who enjoys being read to while in the bath, and my middle daughter who thinks that demons live on our upper floor and are likely to jump out any time she is alone up there. But they do go, and they go seem to get clean(er), and all the while Sir Monkeypants and I are sitting on the couch with a cup of tea, playing Clash of Clans.
These are good, good times.