Have you ever felt powerless and crazed at the same time? Fearfully and maniacally powerless in a moment that might change your life forever? Dread and adrenaline pushing your legs to run, but you don’t know where to go. This sounds like the introduction to a horror story, but it’s not. At least not in a Freddy Krueger type of way. But if you’re a mom, you might understand how I felt when I thought I’d lost my daughter yesterday. Of course, in retrospect I feel foolish. I feel like I overreacted. But then again, I don’t care how foolish I looked. Being in your own nightmare would shake anyone up.

Here’s what went down. This year I decided to sign all three of my kids up for swim team. For those of you that don’t know, swim team is like tiny people’s military boot camp. It’s swim lessons on steroids. The kids have swim practice every weekday, the water is frigid cold, and they have 5 hour meets once a week. It’s insanity for kids and parents. For years I was adamantly opposed to signing my kids up, but I caved last year with the boys because, you know, all my friends were doing it. It turned out to be great for my boys’ swimming abilities, because you’d have to be legless to not improve after 5 days of training a week. Jackson’s morale faltered by the end of the season, but I’m sure he’ll bounce back after the cold water numbs him into submissiveness.

Anyway, this year I signed the boys up again, and added the 4 year old Vivlett to our crew of swimming Cerseys. She has practice every day like the boys, but only for 30 minutes instead of an hour and she doesn’t have to do the weekly swim meets. Yesterday, in true Vivlett fashion, she refused to get in the pool. I made her sit by my side and for 30 minutes I tried to convince her that she wanted to swim. I tried bribery, I tried motivational speeches, and then I gave up and grounded her from TV. She never got in the pool. I call this a MOMM (Manager of Mini-mes) fail.

Then it was the boys’ turn to swim. Even they were reluctant to get in the pool, but I guess they are more afraid of me than Viv is because they did it without much complaint. I wanted to encourage and support the boys, so I walked alongside the pool as they did their laps and cheered them on. Viv was playing with a friend a few feet away, and I would glance her way periodically to ensure that all was right in the world. And time after time, there she was, right where she should be.

Towards the end of practice the boys were growing more and more laggard and unwilling to continue, so I was busy trying to motivate them to get back in the water when I realized I couldn’t see The Vivlett anymore.