Into battle I go

Parenting 101 - Choose your battles, I keep reminding myself. Unfortunately the battle that keeps choosing me is Little Miss vs swimming lessons.
It started with the trickle down effect. Big Brother had a scare when he was little and didn't want to put his head under. He got it within a few lessons. Little Brother watched Big Brother performing and decided that putting his head under was not going to happen. He took half a term for the teacher to crack and now spends more time under the water than above it. Little Miss 4 years old, watched both boys resist, though, and has been following their example for 3 terms now. I cant decide if she's actually worried about water, (hard to believe that when she waves gleefully as soon as she's actually in there) or maybe she's just extremely perverse. I fear it is the latter. There is an innate resistance to being told what to do.
It might be to do with my inconsistent battle plan. At times I have been taking the positive reinforcement tack, 'Well done, darling, you put your little toe in! amazing!'. Other times I've gone hard core 'If you cry I will sit outside'.  I've tried explaining the 10, 000 hours to be an expert theory. I've been good cop 'Just do what you can', and I've been bad cop 'If you dont get in that pool I will pick you  up and put you in.' ( FYI, bad cop only induces masses of parental guilt, I can't recommend it).  I've begged, bribed, removed Peppa Pig privileges, given the boys lashings of chocolates. I've told her she needs to be able to swim if she wants to come with us on our sailing trip around the world. Its put your head under, or boarding school. I'm embarrassed to read back and remember these things, but there it is, proof I'm no expert at parenting.
What's also hard to admit is my motivation for wanting her to bloody-well-get on with it.  Is it that I just want her to hurry up and learn so we can move onto clashing about something else equally unimportant in the scheme of things? Is this the blueprint for our relationship - driving lessons, me giving gruff advice on her future partner and parenting choices? I certainly don't want our relationship to develop into the epic recurring world championships of me vs. her.
Perhaps it is that I am tired of coaxing children into the swimming pool, considering I've been doing it 1,2, sometimes 3 times a week for 5 years.  Spending two hours a week beside a pool is not what you dream of when planning the nursery.
Perhaps it is because I absolutely love swimming, and want her to share the joy/pursue the  Olympic career of my dreams (Tiger Mum alert!) There's not many Gold Medals given out for doggy paddle.
Back to Parenting 101, though, my analysis and conclusion is this - I really need to chill out. It is not my responsibility to push, cajole and harange her, encourage or persuade, inspire and teach her - not while she is in the pool, anyway. Thats what I pay the teacher for. He will get her there, I have full faith.  I need to choose my battles more carefully. Next week I'm taking my reading book and letting her get on with it. Even at 4, she needs her autonomy and space to make her own decisions, and pushing her will only result in her pushing back. Better save my energy for bigger battles.

The Joy of the Upper Hand

Parenting is a tight rope walk, balancing the adoration of unconditional love with the sheer inconvenience of being utterly and totally responsible for another human being, or three. The job description - a blue line - is fiercely inadequate, inbox is fathomless, there are precise requirements for what goes in to what comes out, responsibilities cover from what and how organic/trendy it's clothed in, to how functional it's internal parts are, status of emotional well being, and whether you're banking on a Hutt Valley High, or Harvard.  Even when these children aren't immediately in the vicinity of your being, they constitute a constant worry.  They are a whop-arse can of hassle.
Many, including myself,  would say it's worth it, of course, for the love. The joy, the love, the way they snuggle into your innermost heart and stimulate a flood of love-a-mones from that primeval set of neurons set to recognising and adoring a miniature yet cooler version of yourself.  For the egotistical, there is always the small possibility, the chance, the far flung idea that your reconstituted set of genetics and nurturing attention to organic reusable nappies and omega-3 may just bring forth the next Mandela/Sam Morgan/Lorde.
For the vestigual child in me, though, there are times when it's just so good to get my own back.  Even with my own children. Those little victories that remind me that I still have the upper hand, that the slave is also the master. Some examples?
I guess banana mixed with avocado mush food for a baby was one of my first small twinges of joy. Huh! Spot the veges in that! (That's for keeping me up all night.)
Confiscating their Halloween sweets (too much sugar for those precious teeth) and then scoffing them all in the bath after they've gone to bed at night.
Convincing them that the TV only works on rainy days.
As they get older they learn about electricity grids and suchlike, but that only increases the challenges of maintaining the percieved upper hand. I'm not unkind or autocratic about it. I love and respect their autonomy and ability, right from the start, to be masters of their own destiny, and people in their own right.
However I was rather thrilled the other night with a small victory in this miniature and imagined arena - I'm still patting myself on the back while chuckling at my slyness. For it is the stuff of legends - I am she, the Mum who convinced her happy children that desert consisted of a chocolate treat when it was also, and actually, a worm tablet.