So there I was, chillaxin' at the pool with my hubby. He took the day off in order to spend some much needed time together. Life this summer has taken hold, and we've been busy--and our alone time has suffered. Before hitting the movies and over to Texas DeBrazil (dinner tonight, thanks to Julia and Chiz!), we decided to catch some rays.
We brought our Subway sandwiches and drinks, beach towels donning the lounge chairs, sunscreen all over our bods. The sun had been soaking us in for about 30 peaceful minutes. Beautiful, quiet, serene minutes. There were barely any others at the pool, one of the luxuries of not working during the week.
And then the family of hillbillies came traipsing through the gate. Three women that could fill the entire baby pool, two men, and a shitload of kids--at least 6--and they were all boys. And it was still fine when they started canon-balling into the pool. And it was still fine when they were screaming at the top of their lungs, as though the invention of a pool had never been introduced to them before. And it was still fine when the squirt guns came out and they were firing shots at each other within reach.
Things were still fine when the father started screaming at his kids to stop talking to their mother in the profane manner that they were. Things were still fine when one of the mothers told one of the little boys that she'd "Beat the shit outta him if he didn't stop squirting her." Things were still fine when one child began to sink, and started to scream for help.
And we lay there, the sun taking ahold of us, not saying a word. We relaxed through the mayhem. Soon Kent arose and dove into the pool, anything to get away from the noise or perhaps simply because he was too hot. Who knows?
And there I lay, feet toward the pool, about 10 feet from the pool's edge. Next to the Rules and Regulations sign that clearly stated several infractions these yahoos were breaking. But who am I to enforce them? No, not my job. It's the summer. I'm here to relax, to swim, to relax, and oh, yes, to relax.
I tuned out the annoyances so close to my right, focusing on my hubby who was swimming around. And that's when a huge burst of water hit me directly between my legs. It was like a bidet cleaning with my suit still on. "JESUS CHRIST!" I yelled in shock and jumped up out of my seat.
And one of the piece of shit mothers, who ten minutes ago was cursing out her kid, had the audacity to harp in on me. There was no apology. There was no "Hey, son, say your sorry to the lady that you just violated with your squirt gun." No, there was nothing but a "If you don't want to get wet you shouldn't be at a pool." Oh really.
And without a moment's thought or a moment's hesitation, I had to tell this woman, and the other two women who stood with her, to all "F-off." Except I used the word.
If I seem a bit self-righteous, I don't really care. There's nothing worse than parents who are unable to control their children in public places. Seriously. If it's that difficult, please turn your ass around and go home. Public places aren't merely for your children to run amuck. They're not cute. They are annoying--as are the adults who are unable to control them.
And by the way--Rule #2: No throwing of water.
Tomorrow I'll hit the pool again, and when I do I'll be sure to bring my headphones and super soaker. Except it won't be the kids I'll be aiming for, it'll be their parents.
Enough said.
From the Sidelines... The life of a 40s something mom, sister, wife, friend, critic, Starbucks junkie, writer, coach, and a million other things. With this blog, much like life, comes the good, scary, funny, sad, exciting and all those other truths that too many people are afraid to write about. Enjoy!
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Memorial Day Hell.
Memorial Day weekend. I could end the story with that one fragment of a sentence, but what would be the fun in that? I swear, between my kids and the dog, there's never any reprieve. Every year, I get all excited right around Memorial Day weekend. The planning take hold, lists are compiled--this sudden urge for the perfect summer-kick-off-weekend is always on the forefront. It's as though if the first summer weekend is perfect, the rest of the summer season will fall easily into place. And as my children are getting older, these summers feel more and more important--to me, if not to anyone else.
And so this year, after the last two DISASTER camping trips on Memorial Day weekend, I was bound and determined to have the perfect summer-kick-off. Lists were made--from camping supplies to the food we'd bring. Great preparation was taken going through all of the gear, with another shopping trip getting all the supplies that were either missing, broken, or seemingly essential for this year's trip. Marissa and I spent two hours filling the cart, deciding on what was needed and even putting back some things that seemed silly to buy (i.e. the plastic carton to hold the eggs). I strategically packed the Sorento, perfecting this job with ease and skill that the women in my family all seem to have.
As we hit the road, kids were happily listening to their music, dog found a comfy spot between them both, and there was excitement in the air. Granted it was a bit windy out, but we figured it'd either die down or it wouldn't be that bad in the location we were headed. Before hitting up the lake, Brandon would be playing in his last soccer game of the season. His game went well--they won once again, Gates enjoyed chilling under the tree with Kent, and I sat and watched the game with Riss. Perfection was still looming all around, and I was happy.
Two and a half hours later, we piled back into the Sorento and hit the road lake bound. We were all quite anxious to arrive, set up the tent, and get our camp on! Oh yeah. The ride itself was enjoyable--in other words, there was no arguing or bickering or moments where I wanted to pull over to beat some kids. Yup, good trip.
Upon arrival, the wind seemed to take notice and apparently wanted to greet us. Kent and I made our way down to introduce ourselves to some of my sister's friends (who were also camping for the weekend--except in campers, not tents) and figure out where to sent up our site. The wind was approaching 25 miles an hour at this point.
The lake was beautiful. Gates was getting along famously with Body (sister's boyfriend's dog). Kids were happy. My husband kept giving me the look of "Yeah, this isn't going to end well," which I was pleasantly avoiding.
"Babe," he began. I looked toward the lake. "Babe," he said a bit louder. I turned my head and flashed a beautiful smile toward him. The smile that always makes him melt. He grinned back, shook his head, and asked, "Where are thinking this tent's going up? It's going to be like a kite in this wind."
"It'll be fine," I answered nodding over toward the trees. Perfect. I mean the trees will totally block the wind, right? "How about in there? Next to the water, in the trees." The kids were all for it, running toward "our" spot. They began clearing branches, making sure our spot was ready.
"You do realize this site is at an incline?" he questioned.
"Yeah, that's fine. We'll face the water--it'll be fine." I honestly had no idea whether or not it'd be fine. At this point the wind picked up to about 30 miles per hour.
"Honey, you do realize it's all sand over here."
"Kent, it's FINE. Plus the sand makes it easier for the tent stakes to go into the ground." Which was completely true. No need for the mallet over here!
By this time the dogs were running through the water, chasing each other and having a grand old time. I was pleased that Gator was doing so well! After all, he'd never been off leash like this before--except at home every now and then. But never in public. And he was behaving. This was going to be the perfect weekend.
Kent and the kids started unloading the camping supplies and bringing them down to the site. I was supervising (the MOST important job, if you ask me). Kent was unrolling the tent, getting the long tent thingies put together, and I was putting the stakes into the tabs. "Wow, babe, this is easy breezy!" The tent stakes slid right into the sand, no problem. I thought back to last year when I was pounding them into the rock--yeah, that was awful.
And it was perfect.
For about 10 seconds.
Then this gust of wind picked up our tent, with no regard for the tent stakes I meticulously put into place. "Sit on the tent while I try to put the tent rods in," Kent directed. And so I sat.
And the moment I got up, the tent soared into the air, with sand flying straight into our eyes. "This isn't going to work," he started and I had no choice but to agree. Sand was everywhere--the tent stakes were now buried, but without the tent. Yeah, the wind was going to win this one.
I headed over to the others to tell them of our dilemma, when I heard Brandon and Marissa screaming for Gator. He had long tired of the water and running with Body, and decided to jump the fence across the way. The fence that housed the farmer's cows. "Ah, shit," I mumbled and started to whistle for the damn dog.
He was going nowhere but after the cows. And that's when I saw this big ole' cow begin to jump two fences, with Gator right on her heel. He was barking and herding her. And we were all screaming for him to "COME!" Yeah, he didn't listen. And that when we saw the heifer lift her leg and give Gates a huge kick. Marissa started screaming and crying, and I began to worry. I know the power behind those kicks--not first hand, but from my sister who is a dairy farmer, and has had her fair share of injuries. Thinking my poor dog was killed, I lunged toward the field, yelling his name. Kent was on my heels.
And that's when I saw him, the prodigal son returning home. He was limping, made his way in-between the barbed wire fence, and collapsed right at my feet. "We're going to have to take him to the vet!" I told Kent, afraid his leg was broken. Marissa was now in hysterics when another camper headed toward us.
"If the farmer sees any dogs chasing his cow, he'll shoot them on site." That was enough to send Marissa and Brandon over the edge. Suddenly my angel babies turned into mafia maniacs and were ready to come unglued on the farmer.
"We are going. Let's packed up and blow this clam bake. We can go camping in a hotel, with a pool and room service, but I'm done with this!" the mama bear had spoken. Kent took Gates and walked off his injury. He was fine, just a bit shaken up. Within a few minutes his limp was gone.
So another year, another Memorial Day weekend that bit the dust. And I've decided that next year, should we want to ring in the summer, we will do so poolside. As for camping in Colorado, May is simply too early.
P.S.
We did make it home, safe and sound. Ordered pizza and movies that night, went bowling the next night, and ended up having a great weekend--tent-free!
And so this year, after the last two DISASTER camping trips on Memorial Day weekend, I was bound and determined to have the perfect summer-kick-off. Lists were made--from camping supplies to the food we'd bring. Great preparation was taken going through all of the gear, with another shopping trip getting all the supplies that were either missing, broken, or seemingly essential for this year's trip. Marissa and I spent two hours filling the cart, deciding on what was needed and even putting back some things that seemed silly to buy (i.e. the plastic carton to hold the eggs). I strategically packed the Sorento, perfecting this job with ease and skill that the women in my family all seem to have.
Upon arrival, the wind seemed to take notice and apparently wanted to greet us. Kent and I made our way down to introduce ourselves to some of my sister's friends (who were also camping for the weekend--except in campers, not tents) and figure out where to sent up our site. The wind was approaching 25 miles an hour at this point.
The lake was beautiful. Gates was getting along famously with Body (sister's boyfriend's dog). Kids were happy. My husband kept giving me the look of "Yeah, this isn't going to end well," which I was pleasantly avoiding.
"Babe," he began. I looked toward the lake. "Babe," he said a bit louder. I turned my head and flashed a beautiful smile toward him. The smile that always makes him melt. He grinned back, shook his head, and asked, "Where are thinking this tent's going up? It's going to be like a kite in this wind."
"It'll be fine," I answered nodding over toward the trees. Perfect. I mean the trees will totally block the wind, right? "How about in there? Next to the water, in the trees." The kids were all for it, running toward "our" spot. They began clearing branches, making sure our spot was ready.
"You do realize this site is at an incline?" he questioned.
"Yeah, that's fine. We'll face the water--it'll be fine." I honestly had no idea whether or not it'd be fine. At this point the wind picked up to about 30 miles per hour.
"Honey, you do realize it's all sand over here."
"Kent, it's FINE. Plus the sand makes it easier for the tent stakes to go into the ground." Which was completely true. No need for the mallet over here!
Kent and the kids started unloading the camping supplies and bringing them down to the site. I was supervising (the MOST important job, if you ask me). Kent was unrolling the tent, getting the long tent thingies put together, and I was putting the stakes into the tabs. "Wow, babe, this is easy breezy!" The tent stakes slid right into the sand, no problem. I thought back to last year when I was pounding them into the rock--yeah, that was awful.
And it was perfect.
For about 10 seconds.
Then this gust of wind picked up our tent, with no regard for the tent stakes I meticulously put into place. "Sit on the tent while I try to put the tent rods in," Kent directed. And so I sat.
And the moment I got up, the tent soared into the air, with sand flying straight into our eyes. "This isn't going to work," he started and I had no choice but to agree. Sand was everywhere--the tent stakes were now buried, but without the tent. Yeah, the wind was going to win this one.
I headed over to the others to tell them of our dilemma, when I heard Brandon and Marissa screaming for Gator. He had long tired of the water and running with Body, and decided to jump the fence across the way. The fence that housed the farmer's cows. "Ah, shit," I mumbled and started to whistle for the damn dog.
He was going nowhere but after the cows. And that's when I saw this big ole' cow begin to jump two fences, with Gator right on her heel. He was barking and herding her. And we were all screaming for him to "COME!" Yeah, he didn't listen. And that when we saw the heifer lift her leg and give Gates a huge kick. Marissa started screaming and crying, and I began to worry. I know the power behind those kicks--not first hand, but from my sister who is a dairy farmer, and has had her fair share of injuries. Thinking my poor dog was killed, I lunged toward the field, yelling his name. Kent was on my heels.
And that's when I saw him, the prodigal son returning home. He was limping, made his way in-between the barbed wire fence, and collapsed right at my feet. "We're going to have to take him to the vet!" I told Kent, afraid his leg was broken. Marissa was now in hysterics when another camper headed toward us.
"If the farmer sees any dogs chasing his cow, he'll shoot them on site." That was enough to send Marissa and Brandon over the edge. Suddenly my angel babies turned into mafia maniacs and were ready to come unglued on the farmer.
"We are going. Let's packed up and blow this clam bake. We can go camping in a hotel, with a pool and room service, but I'm done with this!" the mama bear had spoken. Kent took Gates and walked off his injury. He was fine, just a bit shaken up. Within a few minutes his limp was gone.
So another year, another Memorial Day weekend that bit the dust. And I've decided that next year, should we want to ring in the summer, we will do so poolside. As for camping in Colorado, May is simply too early.
P.S.
We did make it home, safe and sound. Ordered pizza and movies that night, went bowling the next night, and ended up having a great weekend--tent-free!
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