Friday afternoon; swimming lessons, ugh! So tired! Pizza tonight; thank goodness. The lesson is over, the teacher now onto his next class. I'll let my boy go swimming in the main pool for fifteen minutes after the lesson, while I have some chips.
He's 13, but still not swimming. He's autie, that's why. That means he's autistic. That means he's a pain in the ****. No. He's not. Well, yes, he is, but he's my son, and I love him dearly. But I'm just so tired.
He is only going to school half time these days. He should be in high school, but he's still not reading, well, not very well. He's up to reading Roger Hargreaves Mr Men books. He's repeating the last year of primary school. Could you imagine what those high school boys would do to him?
I have given him a noodle - you know; those floaty things. He can hang onto that and I know he won't go in any water deeper than his waist. He never has before. He's frightened of the water getting on his head.
Some chips and a coffee. I just grabbed them quickly from the kiosk as he finished his lesson, and now he's in the big pool and I'll sit down and watch him. Whew! The weekend at last.
Ahh! Relax in my chair. Put my coffee down on the table. Now, where is he?
Where is he-
The siren rang and the pool guards called for everyone to get out of the pool.
Where is he?
submitted at 8:26am
10 July 2011
Eirene Hogan's web: