Well let's just say that the gogos will be remaining in their bag for some time and swimming lessons are cancelled indefinitely. I do not have the emotional stamina to go through it again. Son 1 refused to go swimming before we even left home. Despite getting into his swimming things, he wouldn't leave the house. I tried to find out why he hated swimming so much. He said he was tired. I tried rationalising. Explaining. Being understanding. Cajoling. Reminding of gogos. To no avail. So I asked son 2 if he still wanted to go swimming. Oh yes, he said charging off to the car. I asked whether he was 100% sure. Absolutely definitely yes.
And so, in a groundhog day dejavuey rehash, off we went to swimming with one son howling, one son saying he'll hold his hand. I had told son 1 that he didn't have to swim and that we were going because son 2 wanted to swim. Son 1 was howling because he knew that meant the end of his gogos.
In the change room, son 2 was rearing to go. Son 1 was suddenly vacillating. Then son 2 decided actually he didn't want to swim. Son 1 was still vacillating. Son 2 decided he definitely didn't want to swim. Son 1 was very much still vacillating. I was perspiring (very hot changerooms) and the heat from the stares of the other parents was adding to my rising temperature considerably. I gave them a final ultimatum - it was swim now or forever hold your peace. Another no from son 2, another bit of indecision from son 1. I made an executive decision. Enough is enough.
We left. No swimming at all. Just two small boys wailing about how they actually did want to go to swimming lessons, just not today (although they say that every day). And that they did still want gogos. I explained that all future swimming lessons were cancelled as were the gogos. I knew this was an inflammatory thing to say but quite frankly, I was a little bit pissed off and rapidly approaching the T-Junction of End and Tether.
And so the howling continued. And continued. And continued. And continued. And continued. And continued. And continued. And continued. And continued. All the way home. All the way into the house.
I reached for the remote control and turned on Cbeebies. The noise stopped immediately.
I can now add the £80 I spent on swimming lessons to the escalating total of activities we have tried but failed. I'd like to declare that I will never again spend money on classes for these two but I know I will. I know that I will feel bad that they're not keeping up in maths or really do show musical talent or might enjoy mini cricket and so I'll sign them up for something, only to line someone else's pockets while my children howl about how they don't want to do it.
I just hope that they make adult sized arm bands because I have a feeling we'll be needing them.