Really, I Only Go To The Pool For The Blog Fodder

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Because that’s about the only redeeming reason to go anymore.

Today I got up the gumption to take the three chilluns to the pool, as you can probably deduce from the title of this post.  I think this is what, the third time this summer I’ve ventured to the pool by myself?  The first two trips are documented here and here.

Today when we arrived at the pool, laden with sack lunches and all the paraphernalia that accompanies three children and one delusional housewife to the pool, I noticed a sign on the front desk.

“No children wearing diapers allowed in the main pool.”

What’s up with that, I wondered briefly.  Oh, well, no matter.  I can hang out in the kiddie pool with the baby.

But no.  When we got into the pool area, I noticed bright yellow tape surrounding the kiddie pool and a sign clearly stating “CLOSED”.  I asked the nearest employee where my baby is supposed to swim, and she said, “Just the splash pad today.”

Mmmm’kay.

The “splash pad” is an area with showers, streams, and water sprays but no standing water.  It’s enclosed by glass panels that are supposed to keep out the harmful UVA and UVB rays, but in 95-degree heat, all it does is produce a sauna effect — not exactly my first choice for where to spend the better part of my afternoon.

And then of course I had to ask why the kiddie pool was closed.  This is information I could have done without.  Evidently there has been an “outbreak of intestinal infections”.  You can imagine how eager I was to dive into that pool!

Needless to say, we didn’t spend a long time at the pool today.

When we got home, I filled the wading pool and the children spent the remainder of their afternoon happily splashing about while I sat on the porch and roasted like rotisserie chicken.

Did I mention it’s NINETY-FIVE DEGREES in Philly today?  Not that I mind.  Honestly, I love the summer.  I love the heat.  WHEN I CAN SIT IN THE POOL WITHOUT WORRYING ABOUT CONTRACTING AN INTESTINAL INFECTION.

Maybe next year we should cancel our swim club membership and buy a bigger wading pool.  One big enough for my adult self.

Or I might have to eat my self-righteous words and invest in one of those behemoth backyard water slides.