After a day that had left me feeling drained, depleted and exhausted, I advised Grumpy Pants I’d do the swimming lessons for the afternoon and he could stay at home and “just chill” for a bit. Because he deserves it.
See. Drained. Depleted. Exhausted.
And, we can now officially add “disillusioned” and quite possiblly “demented” to that list.
With moving much futher away from everything, I have come up with the brilliant idea of hanging around after school for a bit. This will solve the problem I have faced all year, whereby I have to repeat “no, you cannot go and play, we need to leave now becuase we have swimming lessons” and then wander around for ten minutes trying to locate my offspring who have gone off to play.
*deep breath and a big sigh*
Calm blue oceans and overwhelming desires to hold heads under come to mind.
And for the third week in a row, regardless of the weather conditions that have graced us all day, it becomes cold, wet and windy at approximately 3.32 p.m. and the desire to hang around school is no longer there. We’re also alone, as every other family has opted for warm homes instead of after school play.
(Also, we still have no “warm” home to go to … home, yes, warm, no … heating still a discussion point, not an actually “doing something about it” point.)
Thus, we arrive at the pool early and have much time for play there. Which is a load off, as usually they get 23 seconds before their lesson. So all is well.
Sensing I am a little depleted, Monkey Boy steps up and offers to assist with sorting Chippie out after the lesson. Mostly because Chippie is having a screaming tantrum, which only reverberates and adds to the already significant noise levels of the indoor pool area. He wants to go “wif mine brudders” for a shower and et cetera.
I think about it; my three boys, unsupervised in the male change rooms …
Ok, I don’t really think about it. I say “Sure,” and sit down for a moment’s relative peace.
This also involves loitering, slightly anxiously outside the men’s changerooms, which doesn’t draw any attention at all.
Of course, the loitering also enables me to hear the “NAH!” that is so stereotypically Chippie. Followed by another scream from him. I hear Monkey Boy speaking to him, but can’t hear what he’s saying.
Another Chippie “ARGH!” and an exasperated Monkey Boy’s “Bite me!”
Seconds later, Monkey Boy is leading Chippie, wrapped in a drenched towel, out the male changeroom doors.
“He just bit me!” he says, somewhat surprised.
Sadly, I’m not.