Have I learned nothing from James Bond or The Biebs? I should never say "never," because I always end up eating my words with a side of ketchup (never mayonnaise, because EW).
I'd told you guys about how I wasn't going to succumb to buying my kids a pool and blah blah blah I meant it. I really did.
Until I pulled out their plastic kiddie "pool" from the garage and took a look at it ...
Now, I knew I could easily rinse out the nests of spiders and the ratty weird looking white pods that probably contained the larva of equally oogly insects with no problem. I could even manage to work the hose so the kids could splash around in it.
I was all proud of myself until I brought the kids outside and they looked at it dubiously.
"What's ... this?" my eldest asked, genuinely curious.
"Why," I said, my proud-parental voice on, "It's your SWIMMING POOL KIDS!"
They stared at me, open-mouthed.
It was then that I really examined the pool. While it wasn't broken or anything, it appeared to fit a thimble of water. There was no way my three children, who can't even fit in the bathtub together, could play in that pool, no matter how I tried to spin it.
"Ah, heh-heh-heh," I sputtered like a broken record. "I meant, LET'S GET THE SPRINKLER OUT."
They ran off clamoring for the sprinkler as I stood there, gaping at the pool. How the hell had my kids gotten so big? When did they become such BIG people?
I didn't know. But I did know this: I was going to have to remedy the situation. And I did, in the form of a $30 inflatable pool from The Target Store.
The following weekend, we blew the thing up, filled it with water, and watched for 30 seconds as my kids splashed around in it, happily.
Then, a single blade of grass from the recently cut lawn blew into the pool. You'd have thought that a swarm of bees were attacking them as the kids began to shriek and holler about the grass, pushing each other out of the way to exit the pool.
Thirty hundred gallons of water. Played in for 30 seconds.
I think I got screwed.