The Boys of Summer…or Why I hate Going to the Pool…

I used to love the pool. Oh, those endless summer days hanging out with by the water with nothing more than my bikini and a bottle of baby oil and lemon juice…(frying my hair and aging my skin…but hey, who knew we were permanently damaging ourselves…we thought we were hot.) Lounging without a care in the world, reading fashion mags and flirting with boys. Those were the days.

Fast forward twenty years…not so much. Now a trip to the pool consists of packing up the entire contents of one’s house, plus some. It takes more time for us to get ready to go to the pool than we actually spend in it.

An arsenal of SPF 300, bug spray for adults, children and babies, ten different variety of goggles for my picky children, floaties, life vests, enough towels to stock a small hotel, a cooler full of snacks that could feed an army (snack bar for four kids gets kinda pricey) sun shirts, sun hats, water toys, baby gear, baby floaties…I could go on and on. And I am looking oh-so-fashionable in the “mom suit” (oh the horror!) and hat big enough to shade the state of Texas. By the time we get the car loaded with all our gear, we have no room for the kids and I’m ready to go back to bed.

Then once we arrive, we spend another hour dousing children with enough sun block to cause a total eclipse and going over the rules for the billionth time (no, you may not pee in the pool, no you cannot hold your brother’s head under water and no, you may not throw Baby J off the diving board).

Ever try to keep your eyes on three kids in a crowded pool and take care of a baby? Not so much fun. In fact, it is one of the most stressful activities of the summer and I can see why they do not serve alcohol at the snack bar. Because I’m pretty sure all the moms would get drunk, and then who would drive all the kids home? But believe me, as soon as we pull into our driveway, I’m headed for the wine cellar (oh wait, we don’t have one, but I can dream).

And flirting with boys? Fuhgeddaboudit…the only boys that give me a second glance are of the 5-7 year old variety, who only want money for the snack bar. Does wonders for the self esteem. Too bad Spanx doesn’t make bathing suits…

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About marniefernandez

Official kid wrangler of four. Step mom, adoptive mom & bio mom. City girl turned country bumpkin. Small town girl next door married to Hollywood sniper/moto-cross/ninja architect. Career girl turned stay-at-home mom with baby on hip. Permanent taxi-cab driver, schedule organizer and professional laundress. (When not chasing kids...) Mommy blogger, columnist, travel writer and consultant. And no, I don't sleep. And yes, I take Prozac. And drink wine from sippy cups.

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