Splash
For most people, summertime invokes a myriad of good feelings and memories. Everyone is just a little more laid back, a little more fun. Unless you're a SAHM, in which case summer is a seemingly endless, hot, uncomfortable and hectic struggle to keep the tv turned off. When the kids are suddenly home all day, every day, keeping them entertained is an art form. Unfortunately, I'm not the artsy type. I'm also not the field trip type, or the DIY crafts type, or the educational activities type. I'm the type of mom who picks her battles, and preventing the kids from watching too much tv on summer days is a battle I long ago quit waging. But, like any loser, I perpetually feel the sting of defeat.
This feeling is not at all helped by browsing the Kids board on Pinterest, where it seems every other mother has pinned 101 Ideas for Summer Fun. I checked out a few, and many of them are things I will flat out not do. Like teach my children to cook, or build elaborate pillow forts using my cherished sofa cushions, or mix various oils together to teach the kids about density. Screw all that. I like my house tidy, my kitchen child-free, and my oils drizzled on freshly baked bread. Needless to say, I don't often get what I like.
There is one thing, however, I am pretty good about doing with my kids, and that's taking them to the pool. Each summer, as I've juggled different ages and swimming abilities, has been an adventure in heart palpitations and neoprene baby holders. I'm the anxious type, which makes activities involving mortal danger a whole lot of fun. My first summer at the pool I literally counted the seconds between taking a head count of the children, and I did not stray more than two feet away from my youngest. Miraculously, no one drowned that year. Or the two years after that. So you might think I'd have calmed down by now - but alas, no. Going to the pool is the same old ultra-speed aging process of fear and anxiety, punctuated with cold splashes of water to the face.
Today was our first, official pool day of the summer, and it was the same old stress-inducing outing. I plucked Tank off the bottom of the baby pool once or twice, and caught him by the ankle as he took a head dive off a picnic bench onto concrete, but those were the only notable accidents. Beaner's swimming quite well with his Puddle Jumper, and Peanut is a total fish. Which means, with only one potential drowning vicitm to follow obsessively, I was actually able to talk to other moms. And I made a wonderful discovery - I'm not the only crazy one.
Turns out that most moms of very young children feel themselves age several years each time they take their kids to the pool. This was such a relief to learn because, for years, other people have suggested to me that going to the pool is a relaxing activity. These people are not helpful. They know nothing of the heart stopping anxiety of looking up to discover that one's child has disappeared from sight, and not knowing whether to start looking at the bottom of the pool or the edge of it. It's not a mentality - it's biology. When danger is nearby, even in the form of man-made chlorinated goodness, our flight or fight response is triggered. We literally can not relax; relax and someone dies.
Okay, I might be dramatizing it a bit, but I'm not off base. I took a quick poll of moms around the baby pool today and I have anecdotal evidence that I'm right. Anecdotal, people! That's good enough for Fox News, at least.
The good news is that the feeling goes away as the kids get older and pass their swim test. Which means I only have five more years of poolside terror before I can do that relaxing thing I've heard so much about. I'm not sure why I'm willing to weather the pool but can't be bothered to prepare homemade flubber for the kids to play with, or to teach them how to make no-bake cookies. Apparently I'm still more afraid of messes than I am of death.
This feeling is not at all helped by browsing the Kids board on Pinterest, where it seems every other mother has pinned 101 Ideas for Summer Fun. I checked out a few, and many of them are things I will flat out not do. Like teach my children to cook, or build elaborate pillow forts using my cherished sofa cushions, or mix various oils together to teach the kids about density. Screw all that. I like my house tidy, my kitchen child-free, and my oils drizzled on freshly baked bread. Needless to say, I don't often get what I like.
There is one thing, however, I am pretty good about doing with my kids, and that's taking them to the pool. Each summer, as I've juggled different ages and swimming abilities, has been an adventure in heart palpitations and neoprene baby holders. I'm the anxious type, which makes activities involving mortal danger a whole lot of fun. My first summer at the pool I literally counted the seconds between taking a head count of the children, and I did not stray more than two feet away from my youngest. Miraculously, no one drowned that year. Or the two years after that. So you might think I'd have calmed down by now - but alas, no. Going to the pool is the same old ultra-speed aging process of fear and anxiety, punctuated with cold splashes of water to the face.
Today was our first, official pool day of the summer, and it was the same old stress-inducing outing. I plucked Tank off the bottom of the baby pool once or twice, and caught him by the ankle as he took a head dive off a picnic bench onto concrete, but those were the only notable accidents. Beaner's swimming quite well with his Puddle Jumper, and Peanut is a total fish. Which means, with only one potential drowning vicitm to follow obsessively, I was actually able to talk to other moms. And I made a wonderful discovery - I'm not the only crazy one.
Turns out that most moms of very young children feel themselves age several years each time they take their kids to the pool. This was such a relief to learn because, for years, other people have suggested to me that going to the pool is a relaxing activity. These people are not helpful. They know nothing of the heart stopping anxiety of looking up to discover that one's child has disappeared from sight, and not knowing whether to start looking at the bottom of the pool or the edge of it. It's not a mentality - it's biology. When danger is nearby, even in the form of man-made chlorinated goodness, our flight or fight response is triggered. We literally can not relax; relax and someone dies.
Okay, I might be dramatizing it a bit, but I'm not off base. I took a quick poll of moms around the baby pool today and I have anecdotal evidence that I'm right. Anecdotal, people! That's good enough for Fox News, at least.
The good news is that the feeling goes away as the kids get older and pass their swim test. Which means I only have five more years of poolside terror before I can do that relaxing thing I've heard so much about. I'm not sure why I'm willing to weather the pool but can't be bothered to prepare homemade flubber for the kids to play with, or to teach them how to make no-bake cookies. Apparently I'm still more afraid of messes than I am of death.
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