The Pool: It’s Not for Vacations Anymore

By Leigh Thomas

 

I couldn’t let summer go by without an ode to the pool, now could I?! Once upon a time a trip to the pool involved a towel, a trashy magazine, maybe some sunscreen (more like drinks), and it went like this: Arrive. Choose a chair. Move lazily from pool to chair a few times over the next couple of hours. Go home and take a nap. Notice the lack of interruption?

Enter two kids, and it goes like this:

First, bribery: “If you’re super sweet we’ll go to the pool today!” (Translation: Please don’t act like heinous monsters. Mommy really wants to go to the pool.)

Gather towels, sunscreen, sunglasses, Crocs, pool toys, goggles, floaties, noodles, snacks, juice boxes. Adult beverages if I’m lucky.

Help short one change into her swimsuit after she makes the painstaking decision between flowers and Frozen.

At some point yell, “If you don’t stop crying we won’t go to the pool THE REST OF THE SUMMER!” (This is a complete lie, but I never said I should win any awards.)

Lather kids up with sunscreen. Tie them down so they’ll be still. (I might be kidding about that last part.)

At this point I’m pretty sure I’ve got it all together (as if) when I realize I haven’t changed yet.

Change and herd cats, I mean kids, out the door. Come back at least once to get something we forgot.

Now I’m questioning whether this was a good idea and we haven’t even left the damn house yet.

We made it. Everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief, kids jump in the pool and all is calm for about a minute and 40 seconds.

Tall one locates goggles that he left at the pool last week. Because we leave at least one part of the load we carry down Every. Single. Time.

Short one says “Mommy, watch me! I want you to watch me every time I do it.”

Kids need a snack. We’ve been there for five minutes. Lecture them about not taking food into the pool.

Tall one has to go potty (I suspect the little one pees in the pool). He jumps in the pool so he can swim part of the way there. He can’t open the door. Tell him to try again. No luck. Walk halfway across pool deck and turn around. He got it.

Shout “STOP RUNNING!@$&?!” at least 13 times.

Moms get hungry too, despite popular belief that we are robots put on Earth to serve little people. Open box of Cheez-Its. All children at pool descend like a flock of pigeons.

Short one has to poop. Any embarrassment about the fact that she just announced this to a pool full of people is lost as we bolt to the bathroom at lightning speed because we MUST NOT BE CAUSE OF DHEC SHUTTING DOWN THE POOL. A scene from Caddyshack involving a Baby Ruth bar will forever play in my mind during times like this.

It’s a successful trip and we return to the pool.

Some swimming actually does occur, but we have to go home because the little grocery-gobblers will expect dinner.

Protests ensue, followed by “Mommy’s mean face.”

It takes 20 minutes to leave the pool. After 15, 10 and five-minute warnings, give kids towels to dry off and make them gather toys. Tell tall one “Now don’t jump back in the pool.” Turn to pack up and find him back in the pool 20 seconds later. “I thought I told you not to jump back in the pool!?!” “Well mom I didn’t jump,” he says. Touché, young smartass, touché.

As much as it’s changed, I love it just the same. And we’ll do it all again tomorrow.

 

 

Leigh Thomas is a Columbia-area wife, mom of two, runner and communications professional. Because that affords her so much spare time, she also pursues freelance writing and editing. Visit her blog, Literalleigh, at literalleigh.blogspot.com or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/literalleigh.

 

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