We're three for three. Each of the three times in the last week and a half, when I've made a special point to jog us over to a wading pool for Thora to splash around in, we've gotten there only to find out that the pool has been closed due to an "accident" or a "contamination." I can't tell you how maddening this is. Specifically, because on each occasion, it was close to 90 degrees with 80% humidity and I'd just run 3 miles to get us there.
For now, the only silver lining is that Thora's too young to have dashed hopes. And if she's anything like me, god help us once we get to that point. Perhaps my frustration, to the point of internal tantrum-throwing is because Thora is blissfully unaware; unaware of what she's missing out on, and unaware of my tongue-clicking and my complaints of "You've GOT to be kidding me," which sail right over the jogging stroller's canopy only to disintigrate into angry molecules in the air. Hopefully, once we get to the point when unexpected turns of event need some careful redirection and positive spin, I'll be as chill as you can get. I'll be channeling the "stoned surfer" vibe, who takes each new happening as merely what is meant to be. "Dude, Thora, what a bummer. That's core. But I guess, when we think about it, we don't want to be swimming around in some kid's toilet, right? Hey, let's go sit in on that drum circle over there." So for the time being, I'm going to do two things: 1) Try to stop adhering to the "Someone's Got to Pitch a Fit, And If It's Not Going to be Thora..." theory, and 2) try to figure out what kind of signal we emit as we're preparing for these outings. I imagine that we're unknowingly sending up some kind of "Poop In The Pool" signal, a la Batman, and kids all over the Boston-Metro area are doing as told, just in time for us to round the bend, me desperately scanning the horizon for sprays of sprinkler water, and instead seeing the nearby playground lethally overcrowded.
p.s. the photo above is of our outing to dry land, the big field at the end of Magazine, close to our house.
1 comment:
Oh man, that has happened to us too--only once, and not after a three mile jog--but I feel your pain. I feel myself increasingly aware of what I say and do around River. Not that I'm always able to censor myself as I would like, but I'm aware of the not-so-silent messages I send to him. It's tough, isn't? Oh, to be the zen surfer, floating through life on a puff of smoke and good will...
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