Something very scary happened to me last Friday that, luckily, had a happy ending that I want to share. It was a day of learning valuable lessons, so here goes!
After a long playdate-filled morning, I'd planned to take the kids swimming with Grandma at her neighborhood pool. It was a blazing hot day outside, and I was really looking forward to taking the kids in the water. Everything started out great, and the kids were really enjoying themselves, with us, in the special kiddie water park area. Zachary, who has always been more timid than I imagined a little boy to be, seemed to put aside his fears for the day and was showing off some newfound bravery, going down the waterslide on his own over and over and over again. Ashley, who is usually not one to let her brother outdo her, was the timid one, wanting to be held constantly while Zachary couldn't get enough of the action.
After Zachary grew tired of the slide, we all moved to the other side of the kiddie area, toward the "beach", where there is still just over a foot of water. The water was no more than waist-deep on Zachary, and he had never had any trouble maneuvering around in it before. Grandma and I sat down with Ashley and enjoyed watching her play, and even though there was a lifeguard on duty 10 feet or so away from him, I kept my eye on Zachary almost the entire time. I had seen him grab one of those pool "noodles" and didn't think anything of it at the time. Ashley was splashing around to her heart's content when I realized I'd let myself become distracted. Sure that Zachary was having a blast, too, I turned just to check on him. Instead, I found him, chest slightly propped up on the noodle, kicking his legs and paddling his arms just like he'd learned to do in swimming lessons just one month ago. I was amazed at first. "Wow!" I thought. "Is he really doing this all on his own?!" Skeptical, I stood there for several seconds just watching him go. That is when I noticed that he was swallowing mouthfuls of water and fighting to keep his head above the water. He had quite a grip on that noodle, which, I realized later, was probably the only thing (other than a 3 year-old's under-developed problem-solving skills) that was preventing him from just dropping the noodle and picking himself up. Only a few feet away from him, I quickly reached out and pulled him from the water. Just then, the lifeguard walked over and tried to hand me his life preserver...as if that was going to help! "Thanks, man...a little too late," I thought to myself. With Zachary safe in my arms, I carried him over to where Grandma and Ashley were sitting and just held him tight, doing all I could to make sure he knew that I had him and that he was okay, but feeling terribly guilty...like I'd willfully neglected my own son and almost let him drown right there in the kiddie pool with me sitting there thinking, "Wow, he really paid attention during those swimming lessons!"
I was still a little in shock about what had just happened when I smelled something foul. My initial thought, because he was breathing heavily in my face at the time, was that my son had a case of seriously bad breath. (Boy, I've really got to work on my perception, because that was the second time in a matter of only a few minutes that I was more than a little off!) Knowing then that one of my kids had a job for me to do, I checked Zachary first and, sure enough, it was him. In a moment of enlightenment, I realized the literal meaning of the phrase, "to have the crap scared out of you." (Forgive me for being crude, but that is what I thought.) Grandma said she thought Ashley needed a change, too, so we took a break and headed with both kids toward the restroom. It turned out that Ashley really didn't need a change, so Grandma took her back to the shallow end of the main pool, and I set out on what became the worst diaper-changing experience I have ever had. And why? Because I learned exactly how absorbent those Little Swimmer swim pants really are. Or maybe I should rephrase that: I learned exactly how much water those things can hold, turning nature's innocent little call into a few gallons of smelly, polluted water, that turned into a natural disaster right there on the changing table in the ladies' room while I tried to remove the swim pants. What would have been a simple, 30-second task under most circumstances, this diaper change turned into an embarrassing 10-minute undertaking that, luckily, nobody else had to witness...but only because I used my entire body to shield my son from onlookers while trying even harder to shield myself from public humiliation. Quickly, I used up almost my entire stash of baby wipes to mop up the giant mess and tossed all evidence of it into the closest garbage can. After finally putting Zachary in a fresh pair of swim pants, we hightailed it to the sink before anyone had a chance to walk in on us. Zachary and I had some serious decontaminating to do before we went back in the water, but back in the water we did go. I probably should have advised the pool crew to call the fire department and have someone come to do hazardous waste clean-up in the bathroom, but I was too embarrassed to utter a word about it. Now that I think about it, who knows what disgusting stories that changing table would tell if changing tables could talk. I'm sure I would rather change the subject.
So, here's where the happy ending kicks in! After surviving our ordeal, Zachary didn't even act phased by any of it! Even from the moment I pulled him from the water, he reassured me, "I'm okay." Aware that I could have made the situation a whole lot scarier for him if I harped on how afraid I had been, I congratulated him on remembering his swimming skills so well and for doing a great job at kicking and paddling and for being so brave and working so hard. My speech was a moment of brilliance that came from God, because I don't know where else it would have come from at that particular moment. Zachary beamed with pride, just as he did the day he was awarded his certificate of completion after 8 whole days of swimming lessons, which, to me, have already paid off.
Today, we took the kids to see Horton Hears a Who at the dollar theater, and I was totally impressed! I wasn't expecting that outcome for a lot of reasons. First of all, I am not a Dr. Seuss fan. Chris grew up with those stories being favorites, and I guess I just didn't. I've never been able to get very much into that whimsical, nonsensical Land of Make Believe stuff. I didn't really enjoy The Grinch Who Stole Christmas or The Cat in the Hat, so when Chris suggested we go today, I was all about going just for the experience of taking the kids and doing something fun together as a family, though I wasn't at all excited about seeing the film itself. Second, I usually think of Jim Carrey and Carol Burnett and cringe. To be fair, I guess it could just be some of their ROLES that I find obnoxious and not them. My other hesitation came from the thought of taking a 2 and a 3 year-old to the movies again. I've done that only once before (last fall, with my parents) and it didn't end very well. I missed quite a bit of Ratatouille (which, I suppose, I really didn't feel I missed) and ended up dealing with an unhappy child outside. I warned Chris ahead of time that if Ashley started having one of her fits, I would be leaving, taking the car, and going to do the grocery shopping and would pick him and Zachary up after the show ended. I was fully expecting that to happen...if I were living in Real Life.
