Splish splash splosh

I have about 17 minutes until I have to jump back in the car to do the 'Thursday-night-swim-lesson-shuffle'. Six finishes his lesson at 5:55pm; Eight begins his at 6:00pm.

I am usually as joyful about this as someone unpaid to watch paint dry. And realising this always makes me feel guilty. The pool deck is usually crowded, usually smelly, and unusually loud. I hate to go to the pool to 'chat' to the other moms. I hate to just sit there, or flick through a magazine. I would rather be in the water taking a lesson, too. Or home cleaning, frankly. Bad Mommy. (Or 'Good Mommy', if you consider the bit about the cleaning.)

So, instead, I subject my children to an early supper (usually at 4-ish) and then run back-and-forth to the pool 1/4 mile away three times. I am a child. I told the boys: "on Thursday afternoons, Mommy feels like Constance Contraire" - one of the characters in our favorite book series, The Mysterious Benedict Society.

I am dressed as an adult; perhaps I should comport myself as one. But I don't feel like it right now. [stamps foot]

The silver-lining is, of course, that they love it. And so did I...when my mom dropped me off at the pool those many years ago to "go home and clean".


Today's conundrum: When will Wolf Hall actually be released?

Future conundrum: Is it right to cringe when I see an(other) actress-as-cover-model on W? Or on any fashion mag actually?

Thanks for perusing this blog; blog you again soon!