Warning: There will be no pictures on this post. None. None whatsoever.
My husband went on a camping trip this weekend with some buddies. I'd like to tell you I was jealous, but camping falls into the vacation category "what to do when you want to appreciate home more". It's a category I reserve for the worst of vacation ideas.
But I digress. I decided to take my daughters to the pool today and learned a great deal that I'd like to share with the wide world of bloggyville.
First, it took about one hour to get ready for the pool. We had to find the pool passes. And grease up the kiddos with sunscreen. And find the pool diapers. And pack drinks. I have no idea why it took that long.
Upon arriving at the pool, I discovered that the baby pool was under maintenance. Bugger. No worries, I'll let Eve test the zero-depth entry of our pool.
I learned something new about Eve today. She likes to jump in the deep end. She has the common sense of a tadpole and the energy of a caffeinated cheetah. I turned my head one second, then turned it back to find my Eve under water. Not swimming. In the process of drowning. So I scooped her up and encouraged her to swim in the non-drowning end of the pool.
At one point Eve bolted from my grasp circumference. I found myself reluctantly jogging after my toddler (who was laughing) while I recalled why working out earlier in the year would have been better than now. Let me know when they make Spandex full-body bathing suits, would ya?
One particularly funny moment was when Eve *desperately* wanted "icicle" (popsicle) and stood in front of an older girl who was enjoying a popsicle and smiled her prettiest, dimple-est smile at her, looking alternately at her popsicle and the girl's face. I swear that if that chica turned her head, she'd find her frozen snack snatched from her grasp while a 2 year old ran away laughing with her mother on her heals.
Shortly after, it was time for us to leave.
Upon re-entering our house, all hell broke loose from Eve's pool diaper. I found Eve crying and sliding on the hardwood floor, repeatedly falling in a wet, diapery mess. I thought of how tired I was having such melodramatic transitions from house to pool and pool to house. I mean, why can't it be like NASA? Don't they prepare their astronauts for re-entry into earth's atmosphere?
I'm unsure what perks come with this transitional assistance, but I would very much appreciate the same foresight: a cold drink upon re-entry into my house, followed by a comforting grandma figure for my over-tired cheetah daughter and gentle classical music flooding my mudroom, so as to give audible clues to my daughters as to how to behave.
You can see I've had too much sun today.
