My son, the harpoon

Well, so much for the gingerly plops from Daddy's hands off of the diving board. Mr. Louganis can spring off himself, thank you very much.
You know how hard it is to tread water while holding a 35-pounder above the surface with extended arms?
Don't try it. I about blew a spleen, peddling so hard.
Ryan amazed us both with his enthusiasm and bravery in the pool, now happily jumping off the side with wild abandon, and able to scrounge his way back up to the surface without needing me to pull him up. The last two nights, we hogged the corner of the pool, where Ryan would jump in to me, paddle up so his head was above water, I'd suspend him on his belly, and throw him like a dart towards the ladder so he'd have to kick the last yard or so to reach the steps. He'd pull himself out, and giddily run back to the edge to do it again. I finally told him he didn't need the middle man -- just jump in and then swim back to the ladder. "1-2-3-Go!" I'd say nonchalantly from the edge, not even watching. "Guess I'll go get my kid," I said to Logan's mom, after I'd hear a splash, and then reach over a finger to pull him up.
After the trepidation at the Great Wolf Lodge, and the hostility he'd shown towards the noodle concept early on, we were pleased to see him turn around 8 days later and be someone who needed to jump off the diving board five times in a row. The instructor called him 'a real success story.' Yes, well, prove it. Where's the certificate? Distinguished Graduate? Hello?
We celebrated by going to a Mexican restaurant with one of his classmates, which meant we didn't drive home until after 9:30. With Ryan, helpful as ever, narrating his life.
"Erin has the hiccups!"
"Hic!"
"There's a hiccup!"
"...Hic!"
"There's another hiccup!"
"...Hic!"
"There's another hiccup!"
"Ryan..."