'Don't Go In The Water...' ( Jaws 1975)

Well it seemed like a great idea, now that both Small Boy and Small Girl have swimming lessons at the same time, 'Why don't I lane swim?'

It must be better than sitting, sweltering, in the overheated spectator area, trying to spot my progeny from the bobbing heads and panicking, momentarily, as they submerge, breathing out as they reappear ( why is it always when the instructor is looking the other way?).

In the past I have spent the time, extracting Small Boy from between the flip-up seats ( he was there a while before I realised he was stuck!), bribing him with Monster Munch from the vending machine which always results in a trip to the reception desk because my money is stuck or ,on one memorable occasion, Small Boy's hand!

Possibly the worst 'hot-flush moment' was when Small Boy was playing on the stairs, as I always warn him not to, ( then look the other way and hope he obeys) I caught sight of him as he tripped and then rolled down the steps, in a 'Harold Lloyd ' style, all the way to the pool edge where, thankfully, he came to a stop. By this point the whole pool had also come to a stop as people watched the spectacle and I had to stand ( admitting he was mine) and retrieve boy, whilst trying to appear like a Mum who has Control!

Anyway that is all a distant memory ( I hope) and I have regained enough confidence to dis-robe, exposing my swim-suit clad body for micro-seconds, hopefully, as I get into the water and swim! I do not want to horrify anyone apart from my children!

Unfortunately as the 'family-sized' changing rooms are by the splash pool we have to make a detour there, by order of the children,before I can hide in the depths!

Though I am now stranded in knee-depth water, I still try to attain full immersion in the hope that objects look smaller when seen through water (it's the reflections you know)!

Just as we are about to go to the lesson I realise that my locker key has gone. It had been pinned to my strap. Full alert! I try and search through the pool and re-trace steps but to no avail! I have to attract the attentions of the lifeguard ( who fits the lifeguard stereotype, y'know what I mean?) sucking in , stretching up and waddling to avoid displaying my bum in its full, wobbly glory, I tell him my problem.

'What number is it?' , I can't remember so, horrors, I have to walk away from him to check. I haven't been brave enough to see my rear view for years so I have no idea how horrific it may look. Is it my imagination or has he blanched a little by my return?

I tell him the number and wait to hear his words of wisdom when my friend looks weirdly at me and points.

'It's there...'

It had slid up under my hairline on my halter-neck strap.

When I had gone to the loo I had inadvertently pushed it out of sight as I put my costume on again!

I looked up at the life guard and tried to be cool ( cool, cool, cool does not stop me blushing).

'Oh here it is!' Then I walk the line, butt clenched, I make it into the depths and try swim home.

I am glad I am not about for swimming next week. Perhaps after two weeks he will have forgotten the nutter who hid the key in her hair or perhaps I will have metamorphosed in to Elle 'the body' McPherson?

Rocking all over the Road....

I am sure I lost a few brain cells this weekend so excuse me if I am under-par on the vocabulary front.
Big Boy and I went out not one night but two and while my mind is still trying to function as an adult and a mother my body is refusing to follow instructions and is not listening, particularly like a 4 year old!
It all started to go a bit creative Friday night when a friend and I had organised a band Night for the Parents Association at our children’s school.
In the pub on a Friday, many weeks ago it seemed to be a brill idea, surely inside every hard working 30 something (plus) parent there is a rocker dying to get out every once in a while?
You would have though so…but advance sales had not gone well despite me pushing tickets at the front of school Thursday and Friday, haranguing parents just when they need it least (at drop off and pick up!)
‘ Band Night, come to Band Night…’
Still we rocked, we drank, we broke even, the bands were fab, people danced and everyone I know had terrible hangovers surely that ticks all the boxes for a Good Night?

I had provided crayons for people to doodle on the paper tablecloths if they wished! Lovely Mummy was clearing the tables at the end and came up to me,
‘I didn’t know whether you wanted to keep your tablecloth?’
I smiled, completely unaware of what she was talking about until downloading the photos of the night to find that my lovely (non-parent friends) had been playing obscenity scrabble on the tablecloth!

I managed to fold up tables and benches in heels, half-cut, nearly snogged the caretaker (!) and wobbled home (Big Boy had departed first to relieve Nana- sitter).
Somehow I managed to end up wearing someone’s lawn on my heels on the way home, my beautiful shoes which spend their days wrapped in tissue paper, in their box, to be looked at, but occasion less most of the time, I was devastated!
My knees were in agony the next day, a combination of heels and unaccustomed jigging! But that was nothing compared to my head…never drinking again! That’s the 4th time I have said that in three weeks!
Who says Parents never get out!

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