Don't Die, Don't Die, Don't Die, Don't Die*

On my morning jogs, an older woman keeps randomly wandering out from her house the same time I'm near, shouting: "ALY! ALY!"

ALY!!!

It's some animal named Aly. (Probably not spelled the same.) Scared the bejesus out of me the first few times. Especially that first time. Then I started putting it together. Seems like it's the highlight of her day. So I'm gonna keep on pretending it's me she's desperate to see instead of a sly, silky black cat or aging golden retriever.

I read this book How to Talk So Kids Will Listen & Listen So Kids Will Talk. Let's just say of course it's harder to pick up than the latest mystery sitting on my Kindle. This is maybe the third or second kid help book I've read. I remember some things; I try them out. Nothing really works that great. But one day I'm driving Cole to daycare and he's freaking out because he dropped his dinosaur in our humongous ginormous new used minivan and there's no way I can reach it.

Anyone else pulled muscles reaching for things in the car, risking everyone on the road's life because you can't take the tortuous sound? Definitely #notworthit.

So the book tells you to get imaginative, wish with them and get creative about how you wish too – how you wish you could give them what they want with your magical wizard parent powers. I'm so dunzo with these meltdowns where they can't see logic so I commit with a passionate, drama-drunk gusto.

"Cole! I want to get it for you too!! I wish I had Elastigirl's arms and could reach back and grab it with one long loopy noodle wrist. Or I wish I was a fancy white-haired wizard with a beard who could just POOF! – wave my powerful wand and say my powerful spell and make the dinosaur appear out of thin air, lifted up from the floor or zapped into your haaaand!!!!!!!!!!

I've tried this before. But not with as much Oscar-worthy endeavor. It worked like a charm.

And the 1,000 pages of kid help books were worth it. For that one time when I didn't have to listen to him scream.

His response? A quick pause. "And then there was snow?" he asks quietly.

"Sure, Coley. Lots and lots of snow." He continues talking about magical things, narrating a whole story about God knows what.

Looking back on these last several weeks, he's come out of a tough phase. For now. Maybe the books are worth it. Or maybe it's just him. Or maybe it's just me or us. Or maybe I should go back to reading Harry Potter or watching more Incredibles with them. Nah, it's probably the experts. Probably.

Our neighbor asked us the other day if the kids were doing any sports. Nope. Well, I guess swimming. That's a sport, they say. I mean, is it? I'm trying to make it so they don't die in water, not that they become the Elastigirl that is Michael Phelps' butterfly crawl.

I finally navigate the maze that is signing up for swim lessons post-move and in the age of COVID. Cary can't make it the first day but I've got the procedures down. I pack up everything the evening before.

"They say to put non-potty-trained kids in two swim diapers but I mean, they're kinda expensive right and I have to take him to the bathroom right before anyway, and they're hard to get off. Should I just do one?"

Jules stares at me for a moment while I stare at the swim bag, then: "I think you should probably just do two."

Aw good kid.

I pick them up from care after work and we make our way through the rigmarole of remembering the street and parking and finding the exact school pool location and access point in this urban suburban island life of yet another new location to our family.

Meander through the path, eyeballing signs. Tell Cole to hurry up. Tell Jules she dropped her goggles. Wait for someone at the desk to take our temperatures. Pray they don't care I don't have masks for the swimmers. (Oops, but I don't remember reading that part!) Hm, where to change, where to change ... I see a single bathroom door I think on the swim deck across the way. But the arrows on the ground don't point us that direction around the pool so here goes, gonna break the painted rule! Walking in front of everyone (seriously no one is looking or cares but it never feels like that)...yell at the kids some more so they don't fall into the pool while looking around. A sign on the bathroom door says no more than one person inside due to COVID. And the door is locked. Be cool, Aly. Continue around the pool. Find a quiet corner. Get them changed.

In the middle of sweating and wondering where I'm gonna take Cole for a potty-break, a (very kind but doesn't seem like it in the heat of the moment) woman with a baby in a stroller comes over and says:

Hiiiii. Just to let you know there's no changing on the swim deck. We just don't want little penises out you know. (barely nervous giggle; in fact kind of a confident giggle)

At this point I want to shove my son's penis in her face.

Jules: "My mom is Aly. What's your name? What's your baby's name?" God fucking bless her but I want to say, Stop! Jules, she's the enemy; we don't like her!

I explain we're new and the bathroom was locked and I came from work and where are we supposed to change? By the end of this inaugural swim lesson, this woman has kindly researched and found out the answers to all my questions, baby in tow, her filling in since someone was out.

But in the heat of the moment it's one more thing.

The kids are blissfully courageous and fun as the lesson kicks off. Ahhh, it's all worth it.

Then mid-lesson Cole screams:

I GOTTA GO POTTY!!!!

I run over, almost slip WHICH IS WHY WE DON'T RUN, grab him from the teenager and try to hit the bathroom again. Woot, unlocked!

Yep, pulling down two swim dipes is great. Scared the kid to pieces. Expected poop but he probably peed in the three minutes it took me to get his diapers and trunks down. I sing him a song while he perches on the toilet seat, miraculously balancing and pushing his penis toward the bowl as we stare at each other in the echo-y bathroom with water on the ground that always feels like urine even though it's pool, shower or ocean water most likely in these places.

I contemplate buying myself Golden Goose sneakers for this. I just made $60 on a freelance news story so I'm 12% there. I really think those sneaks are the best place for my side hustle money. A mom at the lesson has GG sneakers on. Gotta do it. Then my dad can say, you bought sneakers that come dirty? It's like MTV and ripped, distressed jeans all over again.

A post-lesson dip in our weird tiny house indoor/outdoor jacuzzi where you simply sit with your legs straight out on our back patio is just the ticket after these lessons. For them. For us it's after they go to bed sometimes. The kids never balk at being cold getting in the pool for their lessons on a beach evening but the hot tub idea always crops up for them on the way home.

It's a grand time. Until we all get folliculitis. Turns out it takes a bit to get chlorination figured out.

We also change in the van now before swim lessons. Penises and vaginas tucked safely away. Though I did accidentally park in front of a lacrosse practice wrap-up and Jules kept doing an oblivious naked jig. She also heard a boy making fun of his mom and Jules was like, hm, did you hear that? We can do that?

Kid, we can do whatever we want. Go against the arrows to go to the bathroom. Hit a nudist beach. Drive a minivan. Make fun of our parents. Take pride this month and always.

*Post title isn't mine; it's Jerry Seinfeld's scuba diving joke. It's what it's like watching Cole learn how to swim.