Summertime, summertime

A peaceful interlude in the midst of a busy holiday weekend is about as pleasant as it is rare. As I write, all of my children are asleep, and it’s just 4 o’clock in the afternoon.

We’ve had a busy weekend, of course, because that’s what you do with summer holidays, you keep busy. Our business (and that’s busy-ness, not an organization dedicated to the generation of revenue) will be capped off tomorrow with a potentially chaotic birthday party event for the Mini-Puddinette (formerly known as The Daughter) including her preschool classmates, all her cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and knowing her, whatever strangers she sees in the road on our way there. It will be loud, chock full of young children bouncing on huge inflatable things, and wonderful. Rumor has it there might be some exhaustion too, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

On today’s square in the family day planner, we intentionally penciled in nothing besides the year’s First Swim Club Visit. The pools open universally this weekend, and we figured it would do us good to have little else to do besides lounge idly in the pool in the early afternoon, and take in some good old-fashioned sunlight.

Well, ok, so with a family like ours, there isn’t much idling taking place at the pool. The boys swam like fish, my daughter spent three hours kicking like a dolphin, and The Attitude even had some fun playing in “bubbles (his word).” The Puddinpop made his first solo jump off the meter diving board, and then several more followed. Sanford, who I’m henceforth going to refer to as Puddinpop ? The Sequel, made his own first jump off the board, and got much practice in the way of swimming where the water is deeper than a person.

My shoulders are pinkish, now, of course, as is my nose and the top of my head. I’m also sporting a bit of the raccoon look since I find actual sunlight difficult to see in. I’ve been told on occasion that I’m becoming a vampire; I try to make my accuser understand that it’s just because I write software for a living. We computer nerds spend most of our lives in darkened spaces, often beneath ground level, staring at a glowing screen. Clearly, there’s a certain level of mole-like tendency there.

At any rate, the only thing that irks me about the fact that several parts of me currently resemble the Mini-Puddinette’s preferred wardrobe is the top my head. It burns once, at least, every year, for no better reason than I tend to forgot ballcaps. The fact is, the top of my noggin is somewhat lacking in follicular density. I have just enough hair to not prevent the effective application of sunscreen, but each individual hair is far enough away from its nearest neighbor that my skull is completely susceptible to the sun’s blinding rays. So, yes, typically I’m the idiot in the pool with a hat. But not today. Today I’m just crispy.

I’ll take it though, because the trade was a no brainer. My children came home from the pool, wiped out to the point where they had little energy for more than stumbling up the stairs to change clothes in a zombie-like shuffle. I put in a DVD and within 20 minutes, everyone was asleep. The peace here is golden.

The Puddinette and I, of course, did what every couple of middle-aged, intimacy-starved parents one child short of a basketball team does when blessed with a little private time in the late afternoon.

We cleaned up the house.

Hello summer, after the struggles of winter, it’s good to see your shining face again.


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