This past weekend was a very swimmable weekend. The air was reminiscent soup. Not the good kind, either. I'm talking Cream of Awful. Sticky, damp, oppressive. And clearly from a can.
Whilst I was wondering what to do with the kiddies all day, my best friend called me to giggle about how she'd just purchased the diametrically opposed Ayn Rand's The Virtue of Selfishness and Karl Marx's Communist Manifesto. Then she made me feel sixteen again by asking me the question that all kids whose parents have a pool hear repeatedly during the dog days of summer: "Hey, are you going swimming today?"
When we were kids, she would come over with a towel and a bathing suit. Just in case.
But I couldn't imagine anything better than going swimming. If I didn't, I would've just puddled. And being surrounded by lovely pool water is way, way better than swimming in your own juices. So, best friend came over, and it was just like old times. Well except that we were squiring my children through the water, both of whom could not have loved swimming more. This is a shock, because in previous years we could only coax the Boy into the water with tales of how much Batman loves swimming.
But this year? He'd been napping when Best Friend and I first dipped into the pool, and upon waking from his slumber, my sister brought him outside so he could see what I was up to. The Boy immediately dropped trou and ran toward the pool, semi-in flagrante. I ushered him back inside where I could slap him in his bathing suit, UV tee, and soaked him from head to toe with sunblock. Same with the Girl. And it was off to the pool!
During this thoroughly enjoyable escapade, I earned a flaming red sunburn. I thought I'd gotten my back with the SPF 45, but, it seems I was wrong. It is flaking and peeling now, and I have a new found sympathy for snakes and what they have to go through when sloughing off skin.
Yet another thing that does not scream professional: angling your arms like an escape artist to claw the dangling strips of flesh from your back.