Duty done

Thank God. Tiger, Squirrel and Shark have reached the age of eight, as of February. This means I am no longer forced to get in the swimming pool.

I have suffered these watery lessons for years. Private lessons and - the horror - leisure swim, have been the only way outside the comfort zones of school swims and understanding clubs, that I could get my three noisy unschooled kids in the pool together. Home education requires self-sacrifice indeed.

But with the ticking of the clock on the midnight hour, 24 February, Tiger, Squirrel and Shark were deemed by the local council to be sensible and able enough to swim without an adult in close attendance. And hopefully too without an ambulance or another letter of apology to the swimming pool.

In anticipation of the great-8 event, last September I cancelled the swimming lessons. In December I boldly put myself forward and promised, 'I am never going swimming ever again'. Come February Grit whoops for joy and in March we fanfare the proud event by invading John Lewis to buy swim costumes. Then off we go swimming. And Grit does not get in.

Now, I can sit in the viewing area. The first time I do that, I want to jump up and down with happiness, like I knew how to play football and may have scored a goal, or learned how to fly and saved the world. I have done it. Ordeal by public chlorine. Four years worth. I should get a tattoo, get drunk, be rubber-stamped from the council, swear in a public ceremony, mark this rite of passage with howls and whoops, dance naked round the pool, anything, watching the three of them, Tiger, Squirrel and Shark, clamber into the pool and shove each other about and know that I do not need to be there.

I sit smug, watching Tiger, Squirrel and Shark splash each other, pretend to find pearls and chase dolphins. At four o'clock, the swimming club comes in, with mummies who have schooled duties, and who tell their Justines and Damiens to swim 25 metres for Level 2 or else. I sit there free and pleased with myself and consider my duty done. Unlike the swimming club mummies, I have my Home Ed Duty Swim Award.

And then Tiger comes in her pink sequined costume with goggles that need adult wisdom and a quick repair. She looks at me with big reproachful eyes and whispers 'I like it when you come in. You do good twirls. It is more fun. Please mummy, next time will you get in?'

Fun? Oh dear. Now here's a new dilemma.