I know the experts go on a lot about how “kids love routine” but I actually think the mums need it more.
Yes, partly because the kids are easier (mostly) but mostly because their brains are so full there is only room for limited movement.
I spent much of the day on the computer doing techincal stuff and having loads of conversations with my web designer. I’m sure she thinks I’m trying to break her brain. Maybe I am. I don’t mean to, but still, I’m a challenge. I was focussed and In The Zone.
Coming out of the zone for school pickup is a bit of a shock. Especially given Thursday afternoons I have the option of not going if I don’t want to. Grumpy does it, then takes them to swimming lessons.
He was working, so I got the gig. I have a history of fucking up the Thursday Night Swimming Thing. There have been incidents like:
- Monkey Boy having to go home naked, save for being wrapped in wet towels
- Both older kids having to dry themselves with the hand drier, due to lack of any sort of towel, wet or dry
- Goggles mysteriously disappearing despite their being there just before we leave for swimming,and miraculously appearing in the bag the following morning, but that are just not there at swimming
Tonight, I pulled Chippie’s towel and bathers off the line and sorted the swimming bag, removing it of all the stuff we didn’t need and ensuring all the stuff we did was actually in there.
We arrive at swimming, in the rain, because it also always rains on Thursday nights, and set myself up to get Chippie changed. His bathers are not there. Nor is his towel. Nor are his old, discarded pair that have been floating around the bottom of the swimming bag since Christmas.
In addition to all this fun frivolity, prior to leaving for swimming, he had an issue with penile direction and his knickers got a little bit too wet to continue to wear. I ventured into his room to get a clean pair but he’d just pulled his trackies on, happy to free ball for the afternoon.
Thus, I had a little boy who had been extraordinarily well behaved all afternoon, terribly upset because I had forgotten his bathers. And he didn’t even have undies on so I could convince him to swim in those.
Instead, he spent the full hour running around the side of the little pool, chatting to his friend and brothers, the mums around the pool taking bets on how long till he fell in. I wasn’t fussed if he did. By the time we were ready to leave, I’d have two wet beach towels to cover him with. Also, I have bigger things to stress about.
Sadly, he disappointed us all by not even getting the bottom of his trackies wet.
Well, that is, until 5.58 and two minutes before Godzilla finished his lessson, when I look up and find he has traversed from one side of the pool to the other, one foot in the pool, on the top step the other on the side. By the time I saw it, he was near the end. I yell his name, and he looks at me as though surprised that I would yell with such a tone.
Yes, a tone that is laden with incredulity, exasperation, laughter and Does He Go Home Naked Or Is He Not Quite That Wet And Can Stay Clothed.
He reaches the end, then lifts his leg out of the pool glancing down at it as though extremely surprised to see it dripping with water.
Over he squelches, now oblivious to any overwhelming dampness in the right leg area, and hands me some we balls. Not his. Some coloured plastic ones that belong to the centre.
It’s not until we reach home that he informs me that he’s wet. Luckily I’m about to toss him into a warm shower. And if he doesn’t undress of his own accord and stop resisting, he’ll go in fully clothed …