Swimming and Other Natural Disasters

On Saturday, I tried to take my kids swimming. It sounds so simple. But, much like keeping a clean house or resisting bagels, things that are simple for other people are kind of challenging for me.

My first challenge was getting Hot Guy up and going. Unless Hot Guy has a pressing reason to be up early, he is a night owl. But we had to go early, because Hot Guy had a pressing reason to be somewhere in the afternoon (this should have been my first clue to delay the whole enterprise, but it was such a perfect pool day). So there might have been some snapping and grumbling.

Then I had to assemble the troops and get bathing suits, sunblock and water shoes on them. Then I had to pack the car with noodles, snacks, towels, sand toys, beach chairs and the new kick board. There might have been some reminders that whiny children don't get to go swimming.

Then we had to drive to our local pool. Now, we are not members of our local pool, which is really a very large pond. It's not cheap and I don't know anyone who goes there, making it unappealing for times when I might consider taking all 3 kids myself (which - spoiler alert! - is never going to happen now.) But as residents, we have been able to buy day passes in the past.

Not, apparently, anymore.

We could not swim in our town's pond without paying a full family membership. So I called my parents, who are members of their town's pool, by virtue of being senior citizens (but for us to join that pool would be even more expensive, FYI). My Dad agreed to meet us at his town pool so that we could be his guests, because after all that build up and preparation we couldn't possible tell the kids that we would be skipping the pool altogether.

By the time we got settled at my parents' town pool, the whole thing had taken almost 2 hours.

We could have driven to the shore and gone to a real beach (that doesn't demand several hundred dollar membership) for that amount of time.

I am reasonably sure that Lovebug and Ironflower had fun once we got there, but I can't be positive because sandbox loving/ wading pool adoring ChunkyMonkey hated the whole experience.

And as soon as Hot Guy went to get himself some food, ChunkyMonkey decided to let me know how much he hated the experience. He was mad that I didn't have snack packs. He was mad that he couldn't eat the crackers he'd thrown in the sand. He was mad that I wouldn't let him head butt me. He was mad that I wouldn't let him hold the open bottle of apple juice. It was like all the tension of the morning exploded out of him in the world's longest, loudest tantrum. Eventually Hot Guy took him to the car while I watched the older kids from the beach chair where I'd collapsed.

Not exactly the fun family day I'd had in mind.