When I swim.

Sometimes when I swim, the water is warm, and it tickles my nose. I blow the water and make bubbles.

"Look at me," I say. "I'm bubbling." My mom says I sound like a motorboat.

Other times, the water is cool. It makes my nose and my toes cold. So I hold my nose and go underwater and wiggle my toes.

Sometimes when I swim, I open my eyes underwater. I can see my teacher's red bathing suit. Then I come up and take a big breath of air. If water is in my eyes, I squeeze it out with my fingers.

Sometimes at the pool, my teacher helps me swim. I shake the water out of my ears so I can hear her.

My teacher shows me how to float like a boat and fly like an airplane. I hold my arms out wide and put my face in the water. She tells me to move my arms one at a time in big circles.

I think the circles are funny.

That makes me laugh, and I learn something new: You can't laugh and swim at the same time. From now on, I'll just smile when I swim.

My teacher says, "Today is the big day. Today you will really swim."

She tells me to float like a boat and to kick my feet and to move my arms one at a time in big circles.

So I do it.

I lift my head to get a breath of air, and I notice something funny. I am not by the wall anymore. I am in front of my teacher.

She picks me up and hugs me. "You swam!" she says happily. "You really swam!"

I just smile.