Pool Progress

I was getting my kids ready to swim again today, and a combination of peer pressure, guilt, and isn't-that-what-this-blog-is-about-anyway got to me, and I dug out my swimsuit and tried it on. I had forgotten how high the neck is! And how the back has great side-coverage! And that with a pair of shorts, I could almost stand to wear it!

I decided to take the plunge, so to speak.

My eldest wandered into my room, surveyed my getup, and said, "So, are you going to wear a shirt with that?"

"I wasn't going to. Why?"

"You should. You've got a weird mole on your back. Plus it's just . . . you know . . . strange seeing my mother like that."

Sigh. Far be it from me to embarrass one of the very children who motivated me to put the dang thing on in the first place. Add my ENTIRE back to list of things my next suit must cover.

So, I put a shirt over my suit. (My friend's 7yo daughter asked why I was fully dressed in the pool. I couldn't bring myself to tell her about moles and rolls, so I told her it was to prevent sunburn, which it did, so it wasn't really a lie . . . and she demanded to see my swimsuit before she would believe I was wearing one. But she did pronounce it a pretty swimsuit.)

And truthfully, the ecstatic look on my 2-year-old's face while we played in the pool?

It was worth it.

PS

Thankyou, Google Reader, for picking up my post right at the exact moment I accidentally made my font three feet tall. Google Readers, please click into the actual blog to read the post in a normal font.

Confession Wednesday: Primsuits

Every time I take my kids swimming, I have this nagging guilt that I ought to be in the pool playing with them, not hovering on the side, safely clothed from neck to kneecap. But oh, how I hate to wear a swimsuit. And I have some swim shorts, but it's not just the thighs; it's . . . well . . . everything between my neck and kneecaps.

By the way, Swimsuit Designers . . . . if I want my thighs covered (thanks for the skirt) wouldn't it follow that I want the neckline to end somewhere above my navel? Hello? Is anyone listening?

Yesterday I took my kids swimming, and I hovered on the side, and I was even ASKED if I thought being able to play with my kids was worth wearing a swim suit. (Cue guilt.)

So in the spirit of compromise (a.k.a. - how can I avoid facing the music?) here's my question: Knowing that people are actually swimming in things like this:

(Really! Just google "modest swimwear")


Would it really be so terrible if I showed up to swim wearing something like this?

Or this?


(Ignore the caption - I'm too lazy to crop it.)

(And in other news: When potty-training a toddler, be sure to use handsoap that smells like soap, not strawberries, or said toddler may taste-test the soap. Ick.)

If swimsuits make you painfully self-conscious, what do you do about it?

Confession Wednesday - Pancake Predicament

What do you do when you go to the local pancake house with friends and they serve breakfast to everyone at the table except you?

You try to fly under the radar until someone else notices it and informs the waitress.

What do you do when a member of your breakfast party slides her breakfast over to share and suggests you just cancel your tardy order?

You hem and haw until someone else ventures into the kitchen to cancel it for you.

What do you do when the kitchen won't cancel your order because they're rushing it and it's already on the griddle, but in the time it takes to rush your order you could have gone home, make your own breakfast, cleaned it up, swept the floor and cleaned 7 containers of moldy leftovers out of the fridge?

You crack a joke about getting your breakfast for free, but you clam right up when you realize the waitress is in earshot.

But what do you do when a sentence at the table ends with, " . . . . and that's about as likely as Mrs. B asking to get her breakfast for free!"

You get a grip and go tell the cashier all by yourself that you'd rather not pay for the breakfast. Then he reluctantly agrees with you and you feel all proud of yourself.

And, finally, what DON'T you do when you get back to the table and everyone asks what happened?

You DON'T shush them all in order to avoid conversation that the waitress might hear, because then you will make your friends think that you're attempting to run off without paying!

What's the best/worst service you've ever received at a restaurant?

Confession Wednesday: It's not Easy Being Green

Word, Kermit.

On Monday, our first official day of Summer Break, I had a few errands to run. Several, really. One of my own personal, selfish, favorite parts of summer break is that my child of legal babysitting age is home, which means I can run quick errands all by myself.

But gas prices that are rising faster than the water in my toilet after the 2-year-old flushes down a stuffed animal have me consolidating my errands, which means if one errand involves all four children (such as a trip to the Public Library), then all errands must involve all four children.

Stop One: The Hair Salon.
Did you know that if you traipse 4 children into a salon for one child's haircut, you will get the evil eye from more than one stylist? Did you know that if you conscientiously try to keep all 4 children engaged and quiet, and keep the toddler from smudging shiny surfaces, and refuse to allow the 5-year-old to sprawl on the floor, AND pile your children onto your lap as other customers arrive, so as to free up seats, YOU WILL STILL MISS THE FACT that one or more of your children are inserting their arms into the 4-inch gap between the propped-open door and the door frame, which will cause a stylist to point it out, explain the associated risks in detail, and then spend the next 90 seconds explaining to the entire shop why she was compelled to call your attention to it? (Her intentions were the most honorable, but holy cow was I embarrassed by the time she was done.)

Stop 2: TJ Maxx

Did you know TJ Maxx doesn't allow shopping cars in the dressing rooms, even if your shopping cart has NO MERCHANDISE in it, and all you're trying to do is confine a 2-year-old in it while you check on your 12-year-old who is trying on a swim suit? Even if your 12-year-old is the only person in the dressing room? And did you know the employee who halts your shopping cart at the dressing room entry is REALLY CURT about it?

TJ Maxx, I hope you enjoyed cleaning the 3-way mirror that my son smeared in the dressing room because he wasn't confined to an empty shopping cart. Also, you need better swim suits.

Stop 3: The Public Library

I was dreading this stop. I had in my hands:

1. One overdue book

2. One book that had been lost, paid for, and found again

3. One book that I bought online to replace the identical copy we lost

Public Library, I know we occasionally lose books, or keep them too long, or accidentally illustrate them with crayons, but I ALWAYS fess up, and I ALWAYS pay, and I REALLY try to prevent all those things! Can't you be a little nicer to me?

When I handed over the books, the results I got were:

1. "This is overdue."

2. "You paid for this more than six months ago. We can't take it back or refund your money."

3. "This book you bought is stamped. We can't take marked books." (This from the librarian's higher-up librarian after much deliberation and discussion.)

Normally I would have politely given in and lamented the money lost, but I was still feeling irritated from the two previous errands. Somewhere inside a little indignant assertiveness bubbled up, and I retorted, "I REALLY wish I had been told that when I CALLED to ask if I could buy a used replacement book, and was told yes!"

To my great surprise, the higher-up took half a step backwards, then said to her co-worker, "Well, then. Let's go ahead and take the book and get it off her account."

I felt vindicated! I felt triumphant! I felt a little stupid that I was having a show-down in the library.

By the way, did you know that the librarians in the children's section of the library are delightful people, and once you get past circulation, it's a lovely place to be?

Which is fortunate, because this afternoon my van is getting a new windshield a block away from the Public Library, and in order to save gas (sigh), and rather than dropping off and picking up the van, we'll be walking over to the library to wait 2-1/2 hours for our new windshield. (Anybody want to join us there?)

Dear Boy Scouts, Thank you for accidentally dropping a canoe onto my windshield, which has been cracked for 7 years, and cracking it in a new spot so I could finally and legitimately replace it under my new glass policy. Really, thank you. Also, don't do it again. I need to pay for gas, not glass.
How are you saving on gasoline this summer?
Also, another question, if less-related:
What lofty aspirations do you have for summer?

Anonymous comments is back!

After much debate we decided to continue to allow anonymous comments. But please keep in mind to keep comments clean and we will remove comments that offend. Thanks!

Wednesday Confession......Blog Stalking

Am I the only one that reads the blogs of someone I don't know? Or knows of them but they probably don't know me so basically we are strangers. There are a couple of blogs I really enjoy, that make me laugh...a lot. I will share with you a great blog that isn't always funny, she has got some serious stuff going on right now, but one of her funniest posts was titled "Insecure" and was written last October. Dialog between her and her husband is always funny. Here it is-http://borrowedlight.blogspot.com/. So what is your favorite blog to read? Do you know the person? Do you think you would be friends if you met?

Flibbertygibbit

It has been brought to my attention that a few of you found yesterday's post hard to follow.

I have just one thing to say:

When sneezing geese are found in the rural conflagrations of supercilious oxymorons, only Brazilian cucumbers can hastily remedy the ramifications of the fortunate outlook on the indomitable.

Now don't tell me you had any trouble with THAT!

Pass the Salt

I'd like to think I've learned my lesson.

How many times am I going to think or say something smug and/or judgemental, only to have my feet crammed none-too-gently into someone else's shoes?

I'd give you a few examples, but they're too embarrassing, which is why I can't tell you how I totally earned myself the following experience:

Last night I was helping my daughter create scale models of the 3 types of Redwoods (I know a LOT about redwoods right now), and went back to my office to get some cardboard from which to cut tree shapes.

My "office" is a small room between my laundry room and garage that has all of my sewing supplies/photo album stuff (See Marla? I did NOT say scrapbooking)/office supplies/giftwrapping/ . . . you get the idea . . . on many, many cluttered shelves. I offered it to the kids as an extra bedroom, but nobody liked sleeping in a room that had an exterior door (I'm thinking this opinion will change dramatically in their teen years).

Also, said exterior door gets left open all the time. NOT BY ME. Somehow nobody thinks it should be closed, and since it's in the back corner of the house, I don't realize it's open until I'm starting a load of laundry and I feel a draft.

So, back to last night. I went back to my office for cardboard, and didn't bother turning on any lights. As I stepped on the threshold to my office (it's just a lot faster to type than "Horribly Cluttered Storage Room"), my foot squished something cold, and wet, and horribly slimey.

I looked back, and saw in the dim light the outline of a SLUG! (I can't even type it without shuddering.) Obviously he oozed in the open door recently, and judging from the trail, has had a heyday in one corner of the room.

Just so you know, in the interest of our kids' innocence, I filter our TV and movies for language, and since I'm generally surrounded by young children, people don't swear around me much. I have many, many vices, but swearing isn't one of them. In fact, I can count on one hand the times in my life I've sworn out of anger/shock. (Plus one apron, but that wasn't anger . . . just shocking.)

I'm running out of fingers to count with.

Because when I saw the offending organism, what leapt from my lips for my entire family to hear was, "WHAT THE HE (brief pause while I grasped for self control and found none) LLALALA (if I turn it into lalala's, will they notice how it started?) LALALAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!"

And then, still totally abandoned by any self-discipline I ever had, I heard myself yell, "THAT WAS WORSE THAN THE TIME (anonymous elderly male relative-in-law) KISSED ME ON THE LIPS!!!"

To which my eldest replied, "HE KISSED YOU ON THE LIPS?????" She followed me as I hopped on one foot to to secure the means to slay the dragon slimey little beast, repeating the question over and over.

After the fifth time, in exasperation, I blurted, "He was drunk at the time, OK?"

Brief silence.

"HE WAS DRUNK????!!"

She repeated that a few more times while I sat on the edge of the bathtub and scoured my foot (FYI - Slug Slime does not rinse off). Did you know that screaming mild profanities at garden pests can give you quite a headache? I finally convinced her to go to bed, where I cannot promise she had sweet dreams.

And as my own personal Jerry Springer hour drew to a close, I recalled a night some 10 years prior, when I earned myself that nauseating little intruder. It's too humiliating; I'm not telling the story. But I had that slug coming. I deserved it in every way.

Which makes me think I have an embarrassing apron in my future. I've earned that one, too. Twice.