I took my son to the pool yesterday for the first time in several weeks. It’s one of those things I meant to do much more frequently, but life got busy and one thing led to another and we didn’t get there. But then, I realized that the HOA will be closing the pool next week, and figured we should get out and enjoy it a few more times before the end of the season.
Anyway, a good time was had. I spent a lot of time tossing him around, and throwing him up in the air, and playing variations of the game of tag with those absurd five-year-old addendums to the rules (“no, no, you have to go backwards“, “no fair, you can’t catch me”, and the like). And then, it started to rain. Hard. So, naturally, I got out of the pool. Why? Uhm… because… I didn’t want to get wet?
Yeah, it makes no sense. I’m submerged to my neck in water, but I get out of the pool because of rain. Go figure.
The rain stopped though, and so it was safe to go back out and get in the pool. Because I wouldn’t get wet, I guess. Look, it made sense at the time!
Ah, who am I kidding. No it didn’t.