Local Headline - Kid Single-Handly Evacuates the YMCA

Okay, it's already been established that I hate the Y.  Many of the people there are weird, the camp kids are heathens, and there are no little TVs on the elliptical machines!  Call me a snob, but I want to be around my own kind with as few small children as possible.

There is something I love about the Y, though.  They offer swim lessons at an incredibly low, low price.  And the instructors are AWESOME!  They really know their stuff.  Seriously, my five year old can swim in the deep end without assistance.  I'm not talking treading water or dog paddling either.  Swimming.  Front stroke, back stroke, side stroke.  That's pretty freakin' awesome, in my opinion.

So every day, I take the kids to swim lessons.  I drop them off to their swimming instructor and return when the lessons are over.  It's not like I "leave" them, though.  I just walk about 100 feet away and hit the gym. (I'm still pissed about the antiquated elliptical machines, but I make due. Motherhood is about sacrifice after all.)  I'm sure the other moms are appalled that I don't stay to marvel at my children's new skills; but hey, I've got stuff to do!

Now, where was I???  Oh, yea.  At the gym.  Just when I found a good read and started to break a sweat, I hear this little voice.  "Excuse me.  Mama, I puked."

Still not seeing my child, I look around in the direction of that voice.  That very familiar voice.  That voice of an extremely well-mannered five year old.  No, I'm not the only mother in the joint.  But I know that voice.  And I recognize that phrase.  That all too familiar phrase -- "Mama, I puked" phrase.

My son, the puker, struck again.  I knew I should have made him eat lunch at 11:30 a.m. instead of 1:00 p.m.  My kids always eat at 11:30 a.m.  I knew I should have stopped him at 2 grill cheese sandwiches and not forced him to take a few bites of the A-B-Cs & 1-2-3s.  I knew it; I just knew.

Sure enough, he got full as a tick just before we headed off to swim lessons.  Once there, he went to the restroom.  He said he had to poop.  I didn't freak because he always goes to the restroom.  Everywhere we go, E has a bowel movement.  Kinda like a dog marking his territory.  No big deal.  Poop, yell for Mama to wipe his hiney, wash his hands, and then off he goes.  Same routine.  Every day at various locations throughout the Mid-South.

His sister and the other little girl in his class were already swimming when he finally got to the pool.  He seemed fine, and jumped in.  He was not fine.  He puked all over the side of the pool.  He puked all in the inside of the pool. 

A full scale evacuation ensued.  Swimming lessons were canceled.  Swim team practice was canceled.  Granny water aerobics was canceled.  The director announced that the water was "contaminated and not suitable for swimming."

I grabbed the kids and high-tailed it out of there.  Embarrassed and amused at the same time.  This is our life...

The Y Just Ain't My Scene

I am such a freakin' brat!  I've grown up quite a bit over the years, but I can feel Hollywood Bitch trying to express herself these days.  I call my bratty side Hollywood Bitch because that was my nickname growing up.  Well, my cousins called me "Hollywood," but I know what they meant.  Omarosa ain't got shit on LB!  I put the D, the I, the V, and the A in DIVA.

Anysnottybitch, I have been nagging my husband to death for a pool.  I want my own damn pool in my own backyard!  Our kids are getting older and fight too much love to swim.  We need some recreation around this junk!  What better way to survive the sweltering summers of West Tennessee, right? 

Think of Hell with a bonfire going at all times.  That's a Midsouth summer. One hundred gazillion degrees.  In the shade.  All day long, I'm sweating like a whore in church.  Ain't no way on God's green earth are you getting me outdoors from June 1st to September 1st.  That is, unless there is some nice, refreshing, cool water close by.  I. WANT. A. POOL. AND. I. WANT. IT. NOW! *insert clinched fists and foot stomping here*

Mr. OCD-I-pay-the-bills-and-we-are-broke says, "no."  He's such a party pooper!  I wasn't happy, but figured I'd compromise.  Here's the deal...If I'll wait another year, I just may see a sparkling oasis in my very own backyard.  I have to wait, though, something I've never been very good at.

Fine, then.  I'll just join the Y!  The kids and I can go to the pool every day!  Besides, they have babysitters...um, I mean...lifeguards!

I was almost giddy just thinking about it.  I could workout while they stayed in the childcare room.  Then we could hit the pool!  It actually sounded better than I'd expected.  Until this morning.

First, it took me like an hour to get our shit gear together!  I packed swimsuits.  Check.  I packed sunscreen.  Check.  Floats, goggles, towels.  Check, check, check.  Since it's a bit of a drive, I packed lunches and snacks and water.  By the time I was finished with that, I was exhausted.  Not to mention, the kids fought the entire time.

Finally, we got to the Y.  I checked the kids into the nursery then hit the gym.  Disappointment.  At my other gym, there are little TVs on all the cardio equipment.  This equipment was in a large room with several TVs turned to various channels with subtitles.  I was bummed, but found a bright spot in the magazine selection.  It was nice to read a chick magazine, something I only do when getting a pedicure or waiting in line at the grocery store.  Before I knew it, I'd done 30 minutes on the elliptical and learned about a few "super foods" at the same time.

I thought, okay, this is not my ideal gym setting but I'll manage.

Afterwards, the kids and I hit the pool area.  With lifeguards (yippee!!!). 

I know why they need lifeguards now, though.  There were forty thousand kids in the damn pool!  Seriously, they were all over the place.  Not a single cubic inch of the pool was vacant.  Made me a freakin' wreck!

Not this bad, but you get the idea...

In addition to all the screeching kids, there was a "Mommies Club" to contend with.  Great, I thought.  I hate playing nice in an effort to fit in. 

All the mommies sat poolside with their chairs lined up together.  They all wore similar black tankinis and had similar looking children with nice little tans.  The moms wore big floppy hats and nibbled on Triscuits.  The kids grazed on apple slices and drank from little juice boxes.  I was in Stepford Hell.  I was in no mood to "play" so I found a nice chair in a corner away from them.

Of course, Stepford Hell was a far better place than the Redneck Riviera on the other side of the deck area.  The moms on that side of the pool weighed in the rotund range.  As the swimsuits they sported weren't bad enough, a few were tatted up with the most heinous of all tattoo art.  One woman actually had what looked like a portrait of the Insane Clown Posse on her left leg.  I saw barcodes on the neck, homemade monograms on the shoulders, crosses and religious memoriams on the back.  It made me long for the Mommies Club Rush parties.

Who'd put this on their leg?!?! Her kids are probably serial killers in training!

No commentary needed here...

The Y just ain't my scene.  I may have to pull out my sex trick arsenal.  Daily blow jobs for the rest of the year???  I dunno, but Mama really, really, REALLY needs a swimming pool!