Swimming And The Art Of "Yes, And..."

Dear Laney,

Every darn day of our vacation, you begged to go to the neighborhood pool. 

For a few years now, I've been sending you to swim classes in the summer, publicly rooting for you and privately wondering why in tarnation I was paying for swim classes for a child who refused to get her face wet.

Here's something we've learned about you over the past few years: you do everything when you're good and ready, and no amount of begging, cajoling, reasoning or bribery is going to rush that process. Take potty training. The day you turned two, your dad and I were determined to get you potty trained, stat.  We prepared a series of special potty chairs and reward M&Ms and days-of-the-week Dora panties, but you weren't having it. We suffered our way through that year. Then, a few days before you turned three, you decided "today's the day," and put on your big girl undies and that was that. We've noticed you don't attempt anything for the first time (talking, walking, etc.) until you're sure you can do it like a champ. So, it typically takes you forever to try a new skill ("Thor, maybe we should take her to see a specialist, because shouldn't she be talking by now?"), but once you do, you're doing it to the nth degree within days ("Dear Lord, will that child ever hush?").

Thus it has been with swimming.

After 4.9 years of refusing to have a single molecule of H20 touch your face, you got in Peg Peg and Tex's neighborhood pool and decided you were going to put your head in.

...and by the time this vacation was over, you were swimming underwater.

Not only were you going underwater, but you soon created an entire imaginary underwater mermaid kingdom, where your dad, the King of Mermaids, wasn't too crazy about your new human friend (as played by me). I know the outline of this plot is cribbed directly from "The Little Mermaid," but you were quick to add all sorts of details about your underwater lifestyle.

This is probably one of my favorite things to do with you: improv. When you pop up in the pool and say, "I've just come to visit you from my underwater kingdom," my theatre training kicks in, and I can't help but ask you some follow-up questions about what life is like under the sea, and agree to help you stage an underwater royal ball where I'll have to sneak in because I'm a human and your dad doesn't like humans.  This is called the "Yes, And" rule of improvisation and it absolutely applies to playing "Let's Pretend" with kids. Here, Tina Fey explains it better than I could, in this excerpt from her book Bossypants:

The first rule of improvisation is AGREE. Always agree and SAY YES. When you’re improvising, this means you are required to agree with whatever your partner has created. So if we’re improvising and I say, “Freeze, I have a gun,” and you say, “That’s not a gun. It’s your finger. You’re pointing your finger at me,” our improvised scene has ground to a halt. But if I say, “Freeze, I have a gun!” and you say, “The gun I gave you for Christmas! You bastard!” then we have started a scene because we have AGREED that my finger is in fact a Christmas gun. 

Now, obviously in real life you’re not always going to agree with everything everyone says. But the Rule of Agreement reminds you to “respect what your partner has created” and to at least start from an open-minded place. Start with a YES and see where that takes you. 

As an improviser, I always find it jarring when I meet someone in real life whose first answer is no. “No, we can’t do that.” “No, that’s not in the budget.” “No, I will not hold your hand for a dollar.” What kind of way is that to live? 

The second rule of improvisation is not only to say yes, but YES, AND. You are supposed to agree and then add something of your own. If I start a scene with “I can’t believe it’s so hot in here,” and you just say, “Yeah…” we’re kind of at a standstill. But if I say, “I can’t believe it’s so hot in here,” and you say, “What did you expect? We’re in hell.” Or if I say, “I can’t believe it’s so hot in here,” and you say, “Yes, this can’t be good for the wax figures.” Or if I say, “I can’t believe it’s so hot in here,” and you say, “I told you we shouldn’t have crawled into this dog’s mouth,” now we’re getting somewhere. 

To me YES, AND means don’t be afraid to contribute. It’s your responsibility to contribute. Always make sure you’re adding something to the discussion. Your initiations are worthwhile.

I can't think of a better thing to teach you than "your initiations are worthwhile," and besides, you are incredibly good at this game.  

Laney: We need to have an underwater royal ball - and it has to happen tonight!

Me: Yes! We must hurry! But I don't even know what kind of food mermaids like to eat.

Laney: Well, sometimes pirate ships sail by and accidentally drop coconuts, and we eat those, but we also eat a lot of seaweed salad.

I promise to always do my best to answer "Yes, and..." If I didn't, just think of the awesome material I'd be missing.

Love,

Mom