I’m trying to push myself creatively with my camera and sometimes the girls are less than willing subjects. Today, however, I tried something that they were more than willing to help me with. The toughest part was keeping them in position because after every shutter release they begged me to show them the shot.
One good thing about moving to a place that you used to live is that you can readily call upon a plan B when things don’t go as planned.
Case in point? We went to YMCA on Tuesday morning, where I promised (stupid, thy name is Hilary) the girls that I’d take them swimming after I worked out. We had had a late start that morning and didn’t leave the house until after 10am. Once we got the Y, got our membership cards, got checked into ChildWatch and the like, it was quarter ’til before I hopped on the treadmill. I put in a solid 40 minutes before wringing out my tee-shirt and collecting the girls.
Off to the pool we were headed, the girls skipping down the hallway holding hands. We pull up to the membership desk so I can ask where the family locker room is located and the kindly raisin wrinkled lady says, “Oh, the pool is closed from 11:30 to 12:30 for adult swim.”
I cast my eyes to the clock above her head. 11:27.
Dang it.
The girls go from glee to grimace in about 2 seconds. How was I know that the pool was going to be closed right then? You would have thought I had planned this on purpose. Morgan lit into me with a vitriol usually reserved for avenging a wrongfully dishonored spouse or sibling. That’s what I get for making promises. And no, I wasn’t going to hang around the Y for an hour until it opened up again. I’ve got other things to do.
Dejected and disgusted, the girls harrumphed their way to the car, bitterly complaining about yet another blow of injustice they’d suffered. What to do? What to do? We had a blow up pool at home, but the backyard had year to be cleared of the previous owner’s doggie deposits. Plus, I don’t yet know where the hose is and I think our sprinkler was left at the last house. What to do? What to do?
Of course! Pop jets at Stony Point!
When we lived in Richmond before, Stony Point Fashion Park had a little atrium that had popping water jets. Morgan was too little at the time to really appreciate it, but now, she and Coever both could run, jump, splish and splash. And Mom could read her magazine. Oooh, and Chipotle is right across the way? Yay! Everybody wins!
I recently gave the girls a copy of Shel Silverstein’s “A Light in the Attic“, which was one of my favorite collection of poems as a kid. In second grade, we memorized poem after poem to recite in front of the class. To this day, I see the title of a poem, like “Bear in There” or “Fancy Dive“, and instantly, I’m spitting out stanzas like I’m back in Mrs. Mahoney’s class.
This morning, while I was straightening up, Morgan was sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the floor with the book in her lap. In between flipping the pages, she was ticking off a list of things that she wanted to see, places that she wanted to go, and things that she wanted me to buy for her. Currently, tops on the list is a trip to Build-A-Bear Workshop. I told her and Coever that I would take them there for their respective birthdays, hoping that would be the end of it. But of course, that is never the end of that.
“But Mom, I really, really, really, really want to go build my own bear,” Morgan implored. She folded her hands together, bringing them up under her chin and doing her best Puss in Boots eyeball routine. You know, this one. . .
I again reminded her, “For your birthday,” and then told her to go back to reading the book. “Why don’t you read me some poems that we can write about later ?” I suggested. We’ve got a summer reading journal going, but that’s another post for another day. I turned back to the bed where I was putting on some fresh sheets. “How about,” I continued, “you pick out a few poems that you like.”
“Mmmkay,” she said. Flip, flip, flip went the pages. I couldn’t tell if she was looking for a particular poem that she’d read before or if she was just looking at illustrations that caught her eye. Flip, flip, flip. “Got one!” she said and began to read.
Another move under our belt.
Another whirlwind of packing up, moving out, moving in, and unpacking.
Another bout of “Where should we put this? Where does this go?” and “Wait, what happened to that?”
It’s only been a few days, but we’ve taken care of the important things, but we’ve been steadily crossing things off our to-do lists.
So what if we’re moving in two days? If it didn’t get packed, it ain’t coming with.
Besides, why spend the last of our Norfolk days inside when we can wring out every last bit of summery, sand-filled, sun-soaked fun right up until the moving truck arrives?
