We went bathing suit shopping at Wal*Mart on Saturday. Because we’re just adventurous like that. And let the record show that the bathing suits being sought were not for me.
And not just because I have issues with the fluorescent lighting and fun house mirrors at Wal*Mart. I simply see no need to scar my children anymore than necessary by seeing their mother jump out of the dressing room wearing a sausage casing, “HOW DO I LOOK?”
Since the weather turned warmer, the children have begun lobbying to go swimming in their grandparent’s pool. Which is not heated. And I have learned my lesson regarding the purchasing of new bathing suits for the season in Florida. If I wait until, say, April, bathing suit choices are greatly diminished.
I insist that my daughters wear modest one piece bathing suits. A factoid which you might find humorous if you were to have caught sight of a teenaged me barely wearing a lime green string bikini. Which may or may not have had padding in the booby caps.
We found suitable suits which the girls loved, and in the right size. Both of my industrial height daughters (ages 8 and 10) are wearing size 14/16 swim wear. And if you’re doing the math, next season we’re going to be shopping for their swimsuits in the junior department.
Which means that either I’m going to start drinking, or learn how to sew.
Jensen joined in on the fun by snagging Phineas & Ferb board shorts for his pending water fun. He doesn’t need any, but he looked so darn cute. And he’s not a bit spoiled.
On Sunday we were to go over to the grandparent’s house to celebrate my MIL’s birthday. The children began campaigning to swim. Let the record show that I said absolutely not. Their father took a different stance. He said, “Sure, if the water isn’t too cold.” Thinking that they would stick one big toe into the frigid waters and run in the other direction.
I on the other hand, prepared myself mentally for the likely event that my children would suffer hypothermia. Because I knew for a fact that at least one of them would end up in the deep end.
The children all happily packed their swimming gear into their backpacks. And chatted about swimming the entire drive over.
When we arrived, they headed for the pool. The water temperature measured 66 degrees on the floating pool thermometer. The 8 year old, and her younger partner in crime got in with very little hesitation. It was then that I informed my husband that HE was on lifeguard duty. As I envisioned them turning blue, and sinking right down to the bottom of the pool.
They withstood the chilly waters for a good 20 minutes, while the rest of the family looked on in amazement and silently wondered why God saw fit to entrust children to me and my husband.
When the offspring emerged, smiles plastered on their frozen faces, we thawed them out in a warm bath.
Spring has arrived in Florida. But I’m still holding on to the last vestiges of winter by my fingernails. And since I won’t step foot in pool water unless it is at least 85 degrees, I still have time to either find the perfect sausage casing disguised as swimwear, or resort to plan B and lose 20 pounds.
In other words, it’s not looking good for me to finally achieve my dreams by joining the Synchronized Swim Team for the Summer Olympics.