I really have no idea what to write. I just know I have to write something because Nina told me so. I have a pause of five minutes between each sentence. I wonder if people that love to write, and it comes to them naturally, understand how hard (and uneventful) it can be for people...well, people like me. When I write I have that awful feeling of being in high school and having to write a two page essay on subject you don't know anything about, and if you did, it would probably bore you to death. (five minutes later) I'm watching Throw-down with Bobby Flay and scratching my right shoulder. See what I mean? Words just don't come easy.
We went to the pool today. Andrea, Chris, Mika and me. Mika loves water (as long as it's warm) so I sucked it up (figuratively and literally) and went. Everything was pretty much great, until fifteen minutes into it Chris comes to me with a weird-ed out face and says "Mika is pooped". Huh? So, you don't let your kid just run around in those swimmie diapers when he is pooped, right? All of us instantly started getting out of the pool, trying to be very sneaky about it as if nobody would notice us - as we are running out of there with our poopy child under one arm, football style. Screaming. I hate pools for two reasons. Ok, three. One is the smell of chlorine. Second is knowledge that without a doubt, in any given moment, somebody is peeing. I don't care what anyone says, it's a fact just like the earth being round and all that good stuff. And three is that I just hate the changing room, not before but after you are done with pool. I can never get dry enough in that tiny cubicle and my towel is always completely wet from my bathing suit even before I start the drying process. And putting on clothes on not dry yourself is a bitch. So poopy child. Well, he wasn't poopy. It is still unknown what happened. Andrea and me think that Chris just wanted to go home so he made it all up. He swears he didn't. What is obvious is that Chris thinks he has a see through vision or that if he thinks it, it must be it. However it happened, our swimming was a short story.
I'm a little better than yesterday, and a little better than that from two days ago. It is a great thing to be little better and not a little worse. But it's weekend and Chris is home. Ask me again on Monday.
And now the end. Of the post that is. I never know how to end these. A smart remark that sounds corny? A question? A slow easing into it. An exclamation! Or a more dramatic one, like STOP!
We went to the pool today. Andrea, Chris, Mika and me. Mika loves water (as long as it's warm) so I sucked it up (figuratively and literally) and went. Everything was pretty much great, until fifteen minutes into it Chris comes to me with a weird-ed out face and says "Mika is pooped". Huh? So, you don't let your kid just run around in those swimmie diapers when he is pooped, right? All of us instantly started getting out of the pool, trying to be very sneaky about it as if nobody would notice us - as we are running out of there with our poopy child under one arm, football style. Screaming. I hate pools for two reasons. Ok, three. One is the smell of chlorine. Second is knowledge that without a doubt, in any given moment, somebody is peeing. I don't care what anyone says, it's a fact just like the earth being round and all that good stuff. And three is that I just hate the changing room, not before but after you are done with pool. I can never get dry enough in that tiny cubicle and my towel is always completely wet from my bathing suit even before I start the drying process. And putting on clothes on not dry yourself is a bitch. So poopy child. Well, he wasn't poopy. It is still unknown what happened. Andrea and me think that Chris just wanted to go home so he made it all up. He swears he didn't. What is obvious is that Chris thinks he has a see through vision or that if he thinks it, it must be it. However it happened, our swimming was a short story.
I'm a little better than yesterday, and a little better than that from two days ago. It is a great thing to be little better and not a little worse. But it's weekend and Chris is home. Ask me again on Monday.
And now the end. Of the post that is. I never know how to end these. A smart remark that sounds corny? A question? A slow easing into it. An exclamation! Or a more dramatic one, like STOP!
Comments (0)
Post a Comment