After a rather disappointing outing to the community pool, our family day excursion has landed me in a quiet chair at our yet to be sold dining room table with my laptop, without fearing that I will call someone else an idiot.
Greg decided that because today is a holiday and one dedicated to being with your family, we should take the kids on an exciting outing.He is a great dad and very hands on when it comes to spending time with the girls. His idea of a special day often involves trekking up to the not-so-local community pool, a mere 35 minute drive north, throwing on our summer swimsuits that have been rotting on a laundry room hook for months and after begging me to strip his back of the rogue fuzzy patches of grover hair, off we go to compare pasty legs with hundreds of other skid families carrying every communicable disease I could list.
We stopped for gas on the way there. I pumped of course as now that Greg’s company car had to be returned before starting his new job, the mini-van has really become exclusively mine and with that title also comes the responsibility of pumping the gas. This would not be such an ordeal for anyone living in temperatures above -35 degrees but for me, my chapped hands and fur hood are no match for the biting wind.
Hooray for finding a parking space in the front lot of the building. Despite our many attempts to park out front in the past, we are usually pushed behind the building even after the countless times we (and several others who are not related to us in any way) have complained that skaters should park in the back, next to the SKATING rink and swimmers should park up front, near the SWIMMING pool. You would think this would make things convenient for all of the local recreational sports participants and yet nobody follows this easy to follow system.
Greg was glad to have me come along and watch with the baby. Simply put, Greg can then get out of all dressing, undressing and showering duties while he leisurely changes in the men’s room and I drag three children, one in a car seat, a duffle bag filled with towels, bathing suits, goggles, bottles of shampoo, soap, conditioner, Ellie’s new camera, spare socks, a key and a quarter for the locker into the sticky-floored change room with far too many black, short and curlies smiling up from the floor, just waiting for an unsuspecting bare foot to glue themselves to.
At home, the girls are excited to get themselves dressed, sneak up on us and await our elated faces when they giggle, “Surprise!” but for some reason, when we take them to a public change room, they become paralyzed and can’t even take off their own gloves without an all hands on deck approach. So, after several minutes, removing coats, boots, socks, shirts, costume jewellery, plastic, dollar store tiaras, gently encouraging and then nearly shoving them into a bathroom stall to pee, we were off to meet a relaxed, suited up Daddy on the deck.
I rolled my pants up and skid onto the wet tile doing my best to grip the grout with my bare feet so I wouldn’t slam backwards cracking open my head and spilling the sleeping baby out of her car seat all the while embracing my new case of athletes foot with a side order of permed, hair shavings.
It wasn’t until I stared through the people hogging the front row of the observation deck that someone motioned to shift their chair ever-so-slightly to the left, leaving enough room for one of my legs to squeeze past if I put the car-seat on my head and shaped my body like a rocking horse. Thanks for your help everyone. By the time I found an empty seat, noticed my red, rashy and now itchy feet, I glanced at Greg and the girls in the pool and the whistle blew. It was a ferocious squeal and one that I’d heard before. The lifeguard made the letter “C” with her hand which I now know means that someone pooped in the pool and everyone had to be evacuated. I can’t figure out if the “C” stands for “ca ca” or perhaps that was the shape of the fowling and if it had been an “S” (which is apparently a sign of a healthy movement) then there would be a different symbol flashed.
Back I went to the change room with the three girls, Greg went to relax in a steam bath, but not before Hanna asked me who pooped in the pool and I couldn’t contain my anger. “Some IDIOT!” I yelled and we headed to the van.
