Yeah. I know. I had a momentary lapse in memory/reality. I forgot they're not 2,6,8 and 11, therefore, "SWIMMING FOR FHE" is no longer a reason for giddy laughter and pee-in-your-pants excitement. It's been replaced with, "Huh? Wait. Now....hold on. What? When did you decide this? Swimming? I...seriously? Like, do we ALL need to go? How about we have a church lesson instead? I don't want to get WET...Plus there's a bunch of pooh and loogies in the water. That's pretty sick."
And they were right. I was witness to the filthy nature of the cesspool, as I sat next to a mother with enormous swinging pendulum breasts, getting her herpes infected and diaperless children into their suits while they picked their noses with dirt encrusted fingernails. And ate it. But, hey, at least that's one less loogie in the pool. Glass half full, people.
And since nobody else would take on the assignment of getting in the actual H2O to keep their sister/daughter alive, (Jerks) I was forced to be the life-guard. And APPARENTLY...there are rules against being in the wading pool in a dress, cardigan and kitten heels. Some kind of "dress standard" that seems pretty damm discriminatory, if you ask me. (If it's spelled wrong, it can't be deemed offensive~just a reminder) Which means I was forced to display my "41 year old 'body-magnifying-glass' lycra." I rocked that wading pool, friends. PAPER, SCISSORS, ROCKED! And don't worry. They're young. Their little minds will forget. But I did notice that stretch fabric shirring doesn't necessarily carry the load it's designed to when it comes to camouflaging a flesh apron.
Which brings us to a nugget that formed in my less than fit brain~Two words, SPANX SUIT. I mean, really. REALLY. Is that SO HARD to construct? Let's get on top of things, designers. Time to ride that belly fat train!
Anyway, long story short, two of us swam, two of us lifted weights, one of us talked on the phone and one of us served a mission. All in all, not the MOST successful family togetherness night we've ever had.
And as I washed the....unsanitary....out of my hair later that night, I realized that another season has ended and a new one is just coming out of the winter freeze.
It's thaw time, people. THAT'S RIGHT, THAW TIME! Which means we get to eat the fruits of the seedlings we planted. The fruits of our labor, if you will. And I do believe that I planted and nurtured some mighty fine saplings.
And she looked around, and thaw that it was good. (I am so sorry~that was a very poor quality joke. It was made in Taiwan.)