Swimming Part I

I started writing this a few weeks ago...

There is a reason I have a dirty house, and that reason is Clara. I can't do anything without her "help." She wants to sweep the floor, though the broom is three times her height, and she ends up whacking the glass panes on the china hutch with the end of it. She wants to watch me make her cheesy eggs, and she'd like to hold the egg or maybe put her finger in the raw egg in the frying pan. She adores the vaccum cleaner, and likes to stand right in front of it so she is well-positioned to screech at it and grab at the light on the front of it.

This morning I really, really wanted to do the dishes, but generally whenever I open the dishwasher to load or unload it, she yells, "Mah 'poon!" ("My spoon"), and empties the silverware tray onto the kitchen floor. Removing the silverware tray only shifts her attention to the plates and bowls and glasses on the bottom rack. She also likes to use the bottom rack to stash her things. I have found many items in the dishwasher. A glitter pen (thank goodness it didn't burst open on the wash cycle). Some of my hair barrettes. One of my leather gloves.

This morning I gave her a tub of soapy water to wash her toys on the floor, because I figured since I would be washing the floor later she could splash around and make a mess. In an astonishing display of strength, she turned the entire tub over, flooding the kitchen floor. She was so befuddled by what she'd done, she stood there in her soaking footie pajamas and shouted, "Hey! Heeeyyyy!" for a moment before taking a step, slipping, and falling on her bottom.

I decided that nothing was going to get done and we should just do something fun. Maybe go swimming at the Y since I'd been promising it for a few days. We ran into a snag when she refused to get dressed, or rather, didn't want me to dress her. She ran around in her diaper clutching her clothes. I got the sense she wanted to put them on herself but had no idea where to begin. I tried to show her. She was pretty sure I was wrong and, anyway, wrapping her clothes around her neck would work just as well. Finally I wrestled her to the ground and put on her shirt. She lay face-down on the tile floor, crying for several minutes, while I crouched over her and said apparently completely illogical, meaningless things like, "You have to wear a shirt to go outside! It's cold outside and Mama doesn't want you to be cold!"

No, no, I didn't understand. She hated shirts. HATED THEM.

"But you look so pretty in your shirt," I said, appealing to her vanity. She looked up, smiled through her tears, and stroked her hair. Yes, she was pretty, wasn't she? Did she see all the pretty flowers on her shirt? Yes, she did. Did she want to look at pictures of dogs in the car? Yes, she did.

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I should get an award for sitting in the kiddie pool. Since it's spring break here, the pool was packed with kids. It was also Senior Swim when we arrived, meaning the seniors get sole custody of the recreation pool for an hour, forcing the older kids into the kiddie pool, as well. The seniors are very possessive of the rec pool during senior swim. They bob around like white-haired sentries, shooting mistrustful glances at all the unruly tykes in the kiddie pool.

The pool seemed murkier than usual, and I refuse to even guess how many kids had peed in it.

I was the only adult who had ventured into it. It was out of necessity, of course. Clara was the youngest one in there, and she tends to get so excited she loses her balance and falls under. She likes to play on the step leading into the water, forcing me to sit chest-deep in the water below her and monitor her movements. As usual, several two and three-year-olds ventured over to us to make small talk. The little kids seem attracted to Clara because she is a "baby," and therefore under their dominion. They help her horde floaty balls and sponge noodles or try to hold her hands and pull her off the step. They help themselves to my lap and hold onto my shoulders and hair to keep their balance. They jabber at me nonstop about the details of their bathing suits. Their parents take their time intervening. Hey, free babysitting, right?

The second Senior Swim was over, I took Clara into the rec pool. I practically hustled the Blue Hairs up their special, hip-conserving loading dock in my anxiety to get into comparatively clean water. The lifeguards turned on the big pretzel slide and kids started lining up to go down it. Clara loves the slide because it has lots of whirlpools and bubbles at the bottom.

(to be continued)