Every week, I take my domineering son Austin to swim lessons at our local overpriced health club, so that he can tempt death by repeatedly swimming out of the instructor’s reach. Austin is five, and he’s in the “Advanced Preschool” class. This means that he’s old enough to transition from sinking to occasionally remaining afloat, but not old enough that Robin and I are allowed to leave the area and unwind at all. It’s … Continue Reading