Where's my whistle?

Swimming is not fun.

At least not when you are a mom with 3 little girls.

Before having kids, swimming equated to laying on a raft for hours soaking up the rays.  With kids, it means sheep herding 3 little girls in the shallow end. Using arms, legs and whatever other body parts are available to keep everyone afloat. Constantly counting 1-2-3 to make sure everyone is above water and accounted for, while being simultaneously kicked in the face, stomach and other unmentionable areas. 

I am their lifeguard.

I keep a close eye and warn them when danger is near.  I allow them to cling to me when they are unsure.  I am there to rescue them when they have miscalculated, misjudged, or messed up.

I will watch like a hawk while she kicks in the pool. While she tries to solidify her independence in junior high school. While she pulls away from me in high school and forms her own relationships.

Then I will miss the days when she reaches out just to make sure I am still there.  When she jumps off the edge into my arms. When she manifests her trust in me with actions and words.  When a simple "Mommy's here" solves all the problems in the world.

She doesn't know that I cover her days with prayer. I do it for her. And for me. Knowing that someone else cares even more deeply for her than I. And that He also keeps a careful, watchful eye. Laying out her days, months, years, before she has even lived them. I have peace knowing that she is in good hands.