Being a parent you live out all the tiresome cliches in truth:

• The days are long, but the years are short.
• They’re only this age once.
• You wear your heart on your sleeve.

Usually cliches do nothing but make my eyes roll in the back of my head a la Linda Blair, but the one about the heart on your sleeve recently hit me in spades.

As most of you know, we left Chicago for Portland this summer. And since we didn’t know many folks here, I’ve signed us up for all kinds of activities to help us make friends. One of them is swimming.

You should also know that my 6-year-old Logan is super cautious. (He gets that from Hubby.) And we really thrived in the 89-degree pool and loving arms of the Chicago Swim School. Now we’re at this Ride-or-Die park district facility and it’s a whole new 84-degree water world.

Walking into this aquatic center, it’s clear these people take their swimming very seriously. They’ve got trophies all over the facility, banners boasting of state championships, Master Swim banners, and the only 10-meter diving platform in the area.

And the kids. You should see them. They’re fish. I didn’t know there were little people who could backstroke, breaststroke, or whatever stroke like that.

Then there’s Logan. He did great at Chicago Swim School and loved it, but here, his disposition to swimming had turned increasingly negative. On his third day of class, a Tuesday, I walked him to the edge of the pool, turned to join the other parents in the stands and he solemnly shook his head no.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, hoping Logan needed to pee.

“I can’t get in.” He said, eyes full of fear.

“What do you mean?” I know my nostrils were flaring at this point. My 2-year-old Ethan, who is hell bent on epitomizing the cliche “Terrible Twos,” was squirming in my arms and Logan’s class was starting. I needed him to get in the pool.

“I’m not getting in the water.”

“Yesssss you are.” I hissed.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Logan,” I paused to curl my lips back enough to bear my teeth like a rabid dog. “You are going to get in the pool and you are going to do it NOW!”

I could feel the Tiger Moms and the Bikram Moms looking down at us from the stands.

Logan though, stood his ground. He didn’t want to get in the pool.

“Get. In. The. Water.” I hissed. At this point, I’m certain I was foaming from the mouth. The teacher looked up at me as if to say, why isn’t he in the pool?

“We’re having a little trouble getting in the water,” I explain. I patted Logan on the back. “Go ahead, get in.”

I spun around and felt a little pang in my heart because I’d left my boy poolside.

I do believe that all kids should learn to swim. I see it as a life-saving skill. However, with my sweet, sensitive Logan, it’s been a long road when it comes to this skill.

By the time me and Ethan the Terrible got settled, Logan had managed to jump in the water with the instructor’s assistance. I pacified Ethan, whom we call the Terrabird, with a fleet of planes while I watched Logan. His class did front floats, back floats, kicking, pushing off the wall, all of it he did fine. Then they have to get out of the water and jump in.

There’s four kids in his class. The first two taller boys jump in without hesitation. Then it’s just Logan and this little girl. They look at each other. He shakes his head “no.” She, thankfully, jumps in. Then all three students and the instructor are looking up at my boy. And he is simply standing there, physically trembling, alternately shaking his head “no” and shrugging his shoulders, as if to say “I don’t know what to do.”

I burst into tears. I was a bit surprised at my emotion, but I didn’t care what the Tiger and Bikram Moms thought, my son looked terrified. Alone. My heart had been ripped out. Placed on my sleeve. Daggered.

Finally, blessedly, the instructor reached up his hands to help Logan. My baby semi-leaped in the water. Swim class was over. I gathered up the TerraBird’s fleet of planes, the TerraBird himself, our swim bag and dashed to meet Logan.

As soon as our eyes locked, he broke down crying. I hugged him tight, trying to squeeze the bad away.

*          *          *          *

Later that evening, I decided to forego Logan’s bed time and take him to “open swim” at the indoor pool so we could work on his skills together. As luck would have it, when we arrived at the aquatic center, Logan’s swim teacher was leaving for the night. I asked him if he had any tips for me as we were there to practice his skills so he’d be less afraid.

The instructor wasn’t just a hot little Michael Phelps, he was kind too and gave me great pointers. Logan and I spent nearly two hours in the pool practicing front floats, back floats, kicks and most important, getting in the water. Throughout the evening, I sang Katy Perry’s new song Roar because it’s become a favorite among the boys, and is a great confidence booster.

Our next swim class was Thursday. I do not know who was more nervous, me or Logan. Shortly before arriving at the aquatic center, just like in the Hollywood movies, Katy Perry’s Roar comes on the radio and we all belt it out, feeling more confident.

During that class I’m sure I was the loudest mama in recent history at that aquatics center. You would have thought that we were at a state swim meet. When he used the technique we practiced to get in the pool, I clapped. He pushed off from the wall farther than I’d ever seen before I heard myself shriek out a quick: “YES!” Then came the jumping in the water.

I saw him look to the stands, trying to find me. I stood up, hoisted my TerraBird with me waving frantically and gave Logan the thumbs up.

And then, my Logan jumped in the pool.

I was elated. So elated I cheered, clapped and whooped it up. My voice bounced off the walls, but I didn’t care. My dude rocked that Level 1 swim class.

Just like his mama was rocking her heart on her sleeve.