Just Keep Swimming

3yo used to swim for 30 minutes twice a week, which meant that those days were eaten up with something short to do before swimming, getting ready to go to swimming, getting ready for swimming, watching totes adorbs monkeys splash around,

then trying to get him out of the pool, trying to get him out of the shower, snacks in the car, possibly driving for a few extra minutes in the hope that he would fall asleep before we got home, then taking a breather before the afternoon school run. I changed all that to include him in his brothers’ lessons, but changed that again when it wasn’t working out to be as much a proper lesson for him, but admittedly it’s totally awesome to hold a slippery cutie pie while his brothers jump and splash. So we are back to group lessons at a new pool, and it was hard yakka last week. I’m expecting the same tomorrow, even though I will try to be more prepared.
I need to get out the Vitamin C spray again, even though the boys will scream like I’m spraying them with acidic sand, and I’d love to be able to oil them after a shower, but last week we couldn’t even manage a shower. The big boys are too old to be in the ladies’ dressing room, but I’m not going to let them go into the men’s room by themselves. Ho hum. So we ended up changing in a corner of the corridor which went to the ladies’ room, all the while turning their heads away and speaking in stern whispers – which everyone could no doubt hear because of the accoustic qualities of tile – about privacy and minding our business and trying to get them to hurry the bloody hell up so we could leave already. Longest 7 minutes everrrrr. Of course, the judgy mcjudger mums of girls were watching me surreptiously, with either bemusement or disdain, while their offspring frolicked in a nice warm shower, and probably wondering what the bloody hell my problem was. Obviously, it is the lack of family change room real estate.
I might be able to shower them briefly under the pool shower, but there is also not much space around the pools before one is standing on the skirting boards, or sitting with your neck cricked right underneath the wall-mounted pool equipment, and people were actually standing in the immediacy of the spray zone whilst watching the swimmers last week. Space is totes at a premium.
Dinner afterwards was only *just* not a write-off. I can’t chance the drive home because one or all will fall asleep and wake stupidly early for breakfast. We went for Mexican cuisine; we have been successfully eating a full meal of tacos at home which pleases everyone (except for Husband because he is a boo-hoo for the mess. They are crunchy! Just deal. In other news, they are kids!), but try to do that in public to your detriment, peril and humiliation. Picky fucking eaters, jumping, yelling, cry baby bullshit, the whole nine yards. Well, maybe 7 and a half.
Anyhoo, tomorrow night, Husband will be able to partake in this delight, and I might check out with a margherita,

or a cowboy boot filled with beer, or I’ll just sneak home and put myself to bed, because swimming is exhaust.


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