Big Fish

I used to be a really good swimmer.

This weekend, we spent, like, five hours at a pool, my brother and his wife, their kid, my little kid.  It was so much fun, just sitting around and kind of cooling off and bs'ing.  I say kind of because the water was about 95 degrees and hardly refreshing.  More than once, we daydreamed about how nice it would be if they brought in a great big block of ice and threw it in there.  Why don't they do that, actually?  That would be the highlight of every neighborhood pool's summer.

Anyway, in the spirit of the neighborhood pool, my brother and I started goofing off with contests.  Which one of us can make a bigger splash?  (my brother.  I'm afraid to run before I jump off the diving board, and also, I don't know how to do a cannonball.)  Who is a better diver?  (me.  he looks like Rodney Dangerfield in Back to School.)  (that being said, I dive too shallowly, a result of an impact of my face and the bottom of a pool in 1987.  I'll show you the scar if you want.)

It was awesome and fun and childish, and I loved it.  And we did enough swimming that I actually felt it in my shoulders the next day. 

I also had a race on Saturday morning, but I was running and not walking on my hands, so I think the pool is definitely the culprit.  (I did not PR, but it was a good race and I was pleased with my 13 minute miles, what with the 118 degree "feels-like" temperatures and all.)

Anyway, all this is to say that I like to swim.

Also, I used to be awfully, awfully funny.

Also, the baby was evaluated for Kindergarten today, and I only got misty once, and he had fun.  The big one actually started school today.  SENIOR YEAR.

My life is about to be one big week of crying.  And crazy.

Want to go swimming?