How the Weird-toed Frenchman Was Right

Monday was the boys' first swim class. It was actually even worse than I imagined it would be, even considering their watery past. Cal was brave until Clark's screaming got out of control. Then his lip started to quiver and he started in on the crying. Of course this was the only time in my life that I was punctual. We sat on a pool chair for 20 minutes waiting for class to start. Those shrieks reverberating around the pool walls were downright obnoxious, and I felt bad for anyone who had to listen. I didn't notice any angry faces on the old women in the water aerobics class, only looks of understanding/ sadness/ sympathy, so they must have all had small children at some point.

The boys' teacher might be pushing 21 years old. I was skeptical at first, but he handled the situation better than I expected he would-- what with his sculpted fauxhawk and all. They ended up finally sitting on the ramp with the water up a little higher than their belly buttons, kicking with straight legs. They finally decided they liked the teacher, just when the next two kids got there for their lesson. So then they clung to him, asking him questions about the different floaty doo-woppers he has, and saying goodbye to him. Then I let them kick on the side of the pool for about 15 minutes. They didn't want to leave.

On the bus ride home an older man boarded the bus by a French restaurant, were he was clearly finishing a shift. He brought a cup of coffee for the bus driver (cute) and they started pounding shoulders and talking. (I didn't notice in time to see if the coffee was in exchange for the bus fare, which could present some interesting bartering ideas in my future.)

He sat down and immediately started talking to the boys in French. Which of course confused them. I couldn't help but notice that he had remarkably weird and dirty toes. They looked dead but they were also all different sizes and the nails were all bendy. I kept trying to look away from them. Anyway, he stopped talking in French and starting talking in English and they starting talking to him a little about the fountain that they love more than anything except maybe ceiling fans.

At one point he asked me which one was the artist and which one liked to run around and throw and break things. My first in-head reaction was, “Jerk! You don’t know my kids.” But then I actually thought about it. I don't know that Clark likes to break things per se, but he does like to run around and hit balls with bats and golf clubs and sticks. And it is becoming increasingly clearer which one of them likes art more. Calvin loves creating. Call anything art and he's all over it. He sees beauty in everything. We finally signed him up for art class because one day he mixed all the play-doh colors together and wouldn’t stop talking about how beautiful the mound was. That mound was mostly just making me mad, since I enjoy organizing by color.

The other day Cal worked for at least an hour on his balcony fountain. It started out as a canning jar with acorns and a funnel in it and ended up with things like a wipes box, my belt, a doorframe chin-up bar, blocks, a cup, garden tomato stakes, and a wad of yarn. He only wanted certain things in it—my suggestions were not always welcome. He had a vision.

After the addition of the ball-like acorns, Clark had no real interest in the found-object fountain and went back to reenacting Bryce Harper Clark’s amazing plays in the living room. For Clark, every square, rectangular, or diamond-shaped anything is a baseball field that needs to have home plate, first, second, and third base locations pointed out and then ran on regardless of how small or big said shape is. And he throws. He throws everything like a baseball. And I am not kidding people, the kid can throw a baseball better than many adults I know. You know who you are.

The apartments right next to us are being torn down right now and so the boys are obsessed with construction sites and knocking buildings and “buildings” down. Yesterday it was the TV trays that were buildings. Meanwhile, amongst the rubble, Cal started building a new apartment. A beautiful new apartment building. An unbelievable new apartment building. It was built of the same chin-up bar and garden stakes. He had a place for everyone to sleep. He cried when Clark knocked it over while sliding into home plate. (He was safe.)

Turns out the weird-toed Frenchman was right. We have an artist and a breaker.

Cal's fountain

Construction/destruction site

Cal builds his beautiful apartment.

 

The Mountain Animals Do Five National Parks

Rocky Mountain National Park

The experience on our road trip this summer that was the most memorable for both Brian and me happened at Rocky Mountain National Park—the first stop on our national park lineup of five parks. We had great memories of exploring the park four years ago on our last cross country road trip and so we wanted to take the boys there on the way through Colorado. When we pulled into the park we asked a ranger which hike he recommended for kids. He told us there was a small one by a river where a dam had broken years ago and the river now flowed over and around huge boulders. We took his advice, and after a picnic, we put on real shoes and went hiking. That was when Cal gave everyone our climbing names: he was Mountain Horse, Clark was Mountain Cow, Brian was Mountain Goat, and of course I was the more flattering Mountain Dog.

The trail was cute and small and the view was astoundingly beautiful especially after having been in Kansas so recently. As we hiked around we saw that a bunch of people were not only walking on the paths below the river but were climbing the boulders and going right up the river. It looked fun, but of course with the boys we wouldn’t be able to do it. We started exploring—just seeing how far we could go. Then the boys started loving it—they were gritting their teeth and finding footholds for their feet and pulling themselves up. They were delighting in everything they saw and did (Mommy! Look how far I stepped this time! Look at that butterfly! I’m climbing a mountain!) and were caught up in the climb. So we did some boulder scrambling with three year-olds and it was delighful and only a little frightening at times. At the top we didn’t quite know what to do so we opted for the more dangerous choice of carrying the boys on our shoulders across the river and hiking down the other side of the boulder field.

Checking out the surroundings

The river flowing over boulders. Notice the climbers up in the right.

Boulder-y river

Here we go!

Bold climbers

Behind the boulders

View from the top. See the tiny people below.

Taking a break

We turned around and Cal was drinking from the river.

Braving the rapids

Made it to the other side!

By the end of the journey, Mountain Horse and Mountain Cow were decidedly done with hiking, but they had loved it and they loved pointing up the mountain and saying, “We climbed that!” It was a super cool, unexpected family adventure. After that, we explored Rocky Mountain park a bit more. We drove up a one-way road with a million switchback turns up a giagantic mountain. At the top we saw elk and caribou and put on our jackets. After a couple more hours of soaking in the scenery we headed to our nighttime destination—somewhere in Wyoming.

Wrong side, Cal.

Scratchy and Smoochie take in the view.

The drive up toward Wyoming from the park is amazing—along a roaring river in a beautiful canyon. The boys missed it because they slept, but it we watched the sunset bounce off the brilliant orange sides of the canyon walls. Great day.

Grand Teton National Park
I had never seen the Teton Mountains before, and once I saw them  from miles and miles away, I couldn’t take my eyes off them. As we drove into Jackson, Wyoming, I was excited to explore the park—well, as much as you can explore a national park with twin three year-olds. We took a tram ride up the mountain at Teton Village—right near where we stayed at Brian’s cousin and aunt’s house. I hate heights but I don’t want to pass on my fear to my kids so I sucked it up and we went up the mountain—as I envisioned falling and being skewered to death on giant pine trees . At the top we walked around a little and the boys played with snow for only the second time in their lives.

WOW.

Tram ride up Rendezvous Mountain at Teton Village

Nice view

Lil' bit colder up here

On top of the world!

Then they had a meltdown on the way back to the tram. They wanted nothing to do with hiking. Brian and I put them on our shoulders for the last 100 yards or so. There was a waffle shack (weird?) at the top so we got waffles with Nutella and they stopped being little punks. Bribing isn’t pretty, people, but it works.

Waffles with Nutella- the key to happiness

When we finished our trip up and down the mountain we drove into the actual Grand Teton National Park (Teton Village is just outside the park). We took a boat ride across a lake at the base of the mountains and went on a hike to a waterfall. The hike was advertised as being a little over a mile. Should we do the whole thing? Going on a hike to a waterfall and not making it to the waterfall is so lame, but if the boys had a meltdown like the one they had a few hours prior, there would be For some reason they were little hiking angels on this hike and it was beautifully fun in the mild mountain summer. Mountain Cow and Mountain Horse had resurfaced! On the way back in the boat, Cal named the boat motors R1 and R2 in honor of his two favorite Robonauts (Pretty sure those are NASA’s only Robonauts). As soon as we turned on the car they fell asleep all the way back to the house. A successful and beautiful day in the Tetons.

Boating across Jenny Lake

Up and up!

Water break

Mommy kisses

Made it all the way to the waterfall!

More water

Tthis cracked rock is way more interesting than the waterfall.

Yellowstone National Park

The third national park we visited is just north of Grand Teton National Park—Yellowstone! I have fond memories of being a kid in Yellowstone, riding around in a mustard yellow station wagon with wood paneling and no air conditioning (known as the Groovy Stuvy Wagon to those familiar to our growing up years)and probably a teenage chip on my shoulder. A walkman in my ears no doubt.

I was also in Yellowstone four years ago on our last road trip—Brian and I drove through it on a whim and spent just a few hours there. We ended up driving between the lake and a wildfire. It was the closest we’d ever been to a wildfire, and it was crazy. There were firefighters all around by the line of the fire, just hanging out eating dinner or whatever, while the mountainside lit up in flames that were consuming the black night. I can’t believe they had the road open still, the fire was so close to it. So. Yellowstone in a station wagon and Yellowstone in a fire were my past experiences.

This year it was of course equally beautiful but it was frustrating that much of the beauty of the place is over the boys’ heads at their age. They were way more into singing songs and eating snacks than the fact that we were on top of a super volcano with wild-colored stones and pools and spitting geysers. We were right next to bison the size of small buses for crying out loud. “Can we watch a DVD?” GRRRR.

We watched Old Faithful, which was cool and they enjoyed. We did some of the small hikes around the springs and geyser pools and I was glad we did. Amazing colors. This makes me almost cry: I lost all of the pictures I took in Yellowstone when my computer died on the way home from our trip. We have only this one from Brian’s phone.

Scratchy and Smoochie at Old Faithful

At the end of the day we only saw a few moose and bison—no bears, which we were looking for. We stayed at an amazing little cabin that I did a review of here. I hope we can take Mountain Horse and Mountain Cow back there when they are older and can appreciate it a little more.

Craters of the Moon

The fourth national park we went to is actually called a national monument, which baffles me and so I’m categorizing it my own way. It most certainly is a park. Craters of the Moon. We had a fun couple hours here, minus the part where Mountain Cow cried and refused to walk so I pulled him.  I wrote about it and put a bunch more pictures of it here. It is such bizarre place—an ancient lava field nestled in rolling farmlands of soutern Idaho. Mountain Cow and Mountain Horse briefly turned into astronauts on the moon at this park.

Astronaut Mountain Horse

Badlands National Park

The fifth and final national park we drove through was Badlands National Park in South Dakota. I also have memories of this park from when I was a teenager in the Groovy Stuvy wagon. I loved our time there. We camped and hiked around on some of the crazy hills. On this trip, however, Mountain Horse and Mountain Cow were not entertained. The Badlands was by far the worst park for us. We simply drove on the loop through the park and early on we decided to get out and walk around a little—show the boys the amazing geologic scenery. The couldn’t handle it. Major meltdown because of something like important a rock in a shoe or a shirt being tucked in when it shouldn’t have been. I think at this point they were done with scenery.

Moments before the epic meltdown

Mount Rushmore National Monument

We also saw Mount Rushmore, and the boys had an equally big meltdown in the midst of all the tourists, but you would never know it to hear them talk about it now. They love to pretend to be the presidents on the mountain and love to point out Mount Rushmore anytime we see a picture of it. (It’s weird how often you see it places)

Pre-meltdown

The stuffed travelers

Post-meltdown Mountain Animals

And that is how Mountain Horse, Mountain Cow, Mountain Goat, and Mountain Dog did five national parks and a national monument this summer.

Remembering I Am a Model: The Smoking Ears

I’m not an easily-angered person. Not much makes me mad. But having kids seems to have awakened an occasional angry side to me that I didn’t know existed. I love my boys more than I thought possible, and they make me happier than I can even describe, but sometimes they make me want to put my fist through a wall. Pretty sure I’m not supposed to say that out loud or write about, but it’s true. I think most anger-inducing actions fit into four basic categories.

Creating intentional messes. The other day they were pretending Clark’s chair was toast and they were smearing tuna, which they were pretending was butter, all over the chair. Of course it doesn’t stay on the chair, but falls to the floor, chunky and disgusting. If you don’t know what it’s like to clean tuna up off a carpet, you’re lucky. I love all their pretending, but they know this is something they shouldn’t be doing—they see the mess they’re making. They know it’s not nice to me because I always tell them, usually through clenched teeth while I clean up something gooey and/or sticky from an inconvenient place. Their giggles usually make me so happy, but when they giggle about making a mess, when they know what they are doing, I am not a giggle fan.

Another thing that makes me mad is when they’re mean to each other, specifically when the mean is unprovoked. Sometimes one of them will be having a fun time playing alone and the other one purposefully comes along and pulls a jackass move simply out of boredom or just plain jackassery. For example, Clark loves to pretend everything is a hockey puck, and often it is a little shamrock from a necklace that is his puck. He was happily pushing his shamrock around, being a commentator at his imaginary hockey game, and Cal came over, picked up the shamrock, and flung it behind the couch. What a little punk! Why would you do that to your brother? Anger.

Another anger-inducing situation is when they disobey me and then laugh when I’m frustrated. When I’m telling them to come over to me for something and they stand there, saying they’re tiptoeing to me, or walking backwards to me and they actually aren’t moving, and smoke is welling up in my ears, and then they laugh. The smoke empties. In public is the worst because it’s also dangerous for them to not come to me immediately. Often when I’m in a hurry, they think I’m being funny because I’m doing things quickly and asking them to speed up. They must think that laughing at me in distress makes me funnier.

The last one is actually a different form of anger; it’s mostly incredulous and often comic frustration. I cannot believe how long it takes me to do something simple most days. I’m interrupted so many times that it’s nearly funny. I feel like I’m looking at a movie of myself flailing around trying to do 47 things at one time and there’s a laugh track with it. This often involves taking two hours to make scrambled eggs and toast because I keep having to stop to put Cal on the toilet, off the toilet, clean up the floor he peed all over, apply sock gloves to Clark and then cheer for him each time he scores his imaginary hockey goals, change Clark’s diaper, wipe noses, turn on Jimmy Buffet for Cal, clean up the spilled milk, start laundry, change laundry…you get the idea.

As I said, these quick feelings of anger are somewhat new to me, as a laid-back-in-general type of person. But they are canceled out by so many moments of love, fun, pride, and downright amusement that they are of course worth it. The other night, while saying prayers, Clark prayed out of the blue, “Help Mommy not have seizures,” which of course made me proud and sad at the same time. I hope the boys learn not to hurt each other, how to hurry when we need to hurry, and to not laugh at people in distress, so hopefully those instances of frustration will diminish. I have this feeling that different ones will emerge as they grow, but it doesn’t matter. I have to remember most importantly of all that they are always watching me and that I am their model for how to handle frustration and anger, so I need to only punch that hole in my imaginary wall and ease off on the steam pouring out my ears.

P.S. You would not believe how long it took me to complete this entry.

Learning to take turns and work together

Angry Birds vs. Angry Clark

Clark is acting like a teenage girl lately. For one thing, he’s obsessing over his hair. If it ever gets any hint of static or he imagines that there is static, he starts wailing about wanting water on it. If his pants are pulled up too high, he freaks out. He doesn’t like his food to touch on his plate. Everything surrounding him is of dramatic importance.

To best illustrate the drama surrounding Clark’s difficult and stressful life, I’ll use an incident from the other day:

1.       Clark hurts his finger and cries.

2.       I tell him that Daddy bought Angry Birds (a new obsession) band-aids for them!

3.       I put on said band-aid.

4.       Clark is happy.

5.       Two seconds later, Clark starts crying because the yellow bird is covered up and he couldn’t see it and that is his favorite bird.

6.       I calm him down by showing him how cool the other birds are.

7.       We leave the house and start down the stairs.

8.       Clark begins screaming hysterically because holding the rail on the normal side he walks down feels weird because of his band-aid on his finger.

9.       I show him he can use the other rail with the other hand and it doesn’t feel weird.

10.   Clark sits down on the top steps, yelling, “no! no!” with tears pouring down his face.

11.   I go to pick him up and carry him down and he shrieks even more, slapping at me.

12.   I go down the stairs with Cal and leave him to his tears.

13.   He eventually comes down and is happy.

14.   We go for our walk.

15.   We stop at a restaurant for lunch.

16.   As soon as he gets his food he starts wailing about how he can’t eat with his band-aid on. “Get it off! Get it off!”

17.   People stare.

18.   I take the band-aid off and put it on his coat, which is on the back of his chair.

19.   He smiles at it and starts eating.

20.   He notices that from where he is sitting and eating, he cannot see his band-aid-turned-sticker.

21.   He again starts wailing about it.

22.   I tell him he’s being ridiculous and I throw it away.

23.   More screams and more stares but he eventually calms down.

24.   He finishes his chocolate milk and starts crying that it’s gone.

25.   We leave.

I guess he’s just going through a phase, but it’s one that makes me want to routinely bang my head against a wall. He also threatens us. He threatens to spank us or yell at us or bang something really hard! on the floor or table or something. I guess he's revisiting this phase from last year. Fortunately Cal has been milder in general these days. He prefers to engage in silent mind games by refusing to apologize or admit what he did was wrong even though it means staying in his bed.

So I’m sure this makes you want to go out and have kids, right? Specifically twins? The amazing thing to me is how quickly they can go from having an epic meltdown to being charming again. I guess that’s how they survive in our house. Cuteness and sweetness outweigh screaming fits of unbridled and irrational rage. 

I’m so glad they won’t one day be teenage girls. Then the drama would be over things like boys and shoes and purses and tampons and things. I'm way better with band-aids and chocolate milk.

Can't imagine him angry? Come visit in a few minutes. 

Tantrums: A Brief Index

It's been close to a year since I wrote this about an inappropriate comment that an old man made to me in a coffee shop. So, I'm checking in again with some more totes inappropes comments from a stranger, and weighing in on the phenomenon of toddler tantrums. On Saturday Brian and I took the boys over the icy path, along the crunchy snow that the boys wanted to eat, "like the man in the merkercial on TV, Mommy!" (commercial), to the Barnes and Noble across the street. Since the fine Barnes and Noble booksellers now boast "the greatest toy selection in the world!" (?) they added a block table within the expanded toy section that the boys and I played on while Brian went to pick up the book he needed. The boys are much better with Duplo (big Legos) blocks than they used to be, but they still sometimes have a hard time clicking them into place.

We had great fun at first, but soon frustration set in with the boys just as Brian found his book and came over to play too. Cal was emotionally injured by Daddy using some of the blocks he had been using and did some shrieking. I call these the Pre-Tantrum Tremors (PTTs). They are warnings that a meltdown is immanent if nothing is changed quickly. I took him to another toy and he calmed down. Then Clark started getting frustrated over blocks and started shrieking ridiculously loud, his PTTs rapidly escalating to a full-blown Physical Anguish Tantrum (PAT) as he flung blocks around. So Brian took him out the front doors and tried to calm him down. I took Cal, who at this point had calmed down and was perfectly content, outside with Brian and Clark. I stood out with the boys so Brian could go pay for his book before we left. I calmed Clark down from his indignant rage and then took both boys inside to fetch our stroller that was just inside the door, and leave the premises.

When I put Clark in the stroller he started more PTTs and squirmed almost through the bottom of the feet space, so that his feet were on the ground and his head was partially under the little tray on the stroller. His screams were reverberating around the once-pleasant interior of the store and I pulled him up by his coat, which of course only made him scream louder and slide down again, his PAT coming back with full force. He would not be reasoned with. I started pulling the stroller out the door, which made Cal enter PTT mode because he wasn't in the stroller too. By then there were about three people backed up around the door, trying to leave, while my giant stroller and I were taking up the small door space. I couldn't really pull or push it straight because the stroller itself was walking, thanks to Clark's little feet sticking through and his PAT.

I don't understand fits like this--the I'm-in-physical-anguish-and-must-be-heard-by-all tantrum. I really don't. My response is usually incredulity, rather than anger, (Really? You're really screaming hysterically over a block?) and my tactic is usually to remove the child from the scene, while at the same time not overreacting and making it worse-- which is probably what the little fit-pitcher wants. So in the ensuing awkward movements that it took for me to maneuver the walking stroller with the PTT boy and the PAT boy through the door, a random old man helped me. It was nice of him. I didn't need him to open his mouth though, as it turned out. He instructed one of the boys to, "Stop crying! Your mom is probably going to start crying herself."

What?

Weird. I mean, I kind of wanted to pick up Clark by his coat and shake him, and I was a perturbed and flustered to be in the awkward door situation, but I wasn't anywhere near crying and I don't know why he thought I was. So, as if Door Opener Man hadn't said enough, when Brian showed up with his book purchased and helped me get the stroller through the last door DOM opened his mouth again. "Oh, your help disappeared on you. I see," he said, nodding toward Brian. Come on, man. Really? If your door-opening comes with the price of your thoughtless comments, then why don't you just forget it. I'll have my PTT-ing boy try to hold the door open for me.

Anyway, that's my inappropriate comment from the weekend. And the giant meltdown, which was a prototypical PAT, was probably the worst public one ever. Below is a pictorial index of the main tantrum types caught on camera.

PTT's characteristic warming-up of the extremities for the physical display to come

The Physical Anguish Tantrum (PAT), this time over a computer screen

The annoying, but much-preferred in public, Silent Protest

The Oatmeal Streak and Breakfast Week Survey

I've written about oatmeal on here before. The boys used to love it. I'd put raisins or peaches or bananas in it and they'd gobble it up and I'd prance around the kitchen feeling like a healthful, successful mother. Since that first entry last winter though, the boys have refused oatmeal. At one point this summer I employed EOD measures (extreme oatmeal discipline) and kind of lost to a teddy graham, but I suppose I also kind of won. You decide. So no oatmeal has been consumed by the stubborn eaters since then.

My friend Aimee had the brilliant idea to put sprinkles in oatmeal. Her son had also had a longtime break from oatmeal, but when she let him put sprinkles in it he gobbled it up. I tried it and it worked! For the past couple weeks the boys have eaten oatmeal quite a few times and cleaned up their entire bowls. Now for the past three days I've asked what they want for breakfast and they've requested oatmeal with sprinkles. Usually they request eggs and toast or pancakes. Sometimes they request odd things like candy or astronaut ice cream, or chicken nuggets or salmon.

Yummy green oatmeal?

So many sprinkle options! 

For your amusement and mine, I've decided to ask both of them what they want for breakfast each morning this week. I'm hoping I'll get some fun answers. Here are this morning's desires:

Clark, grinning: "I want eggs and toast!" Huh. Oatmeal streak is over. How normal of him.

Cal, jumping. "I want blue sauce with green this time and eggs!" Blue sauce is the special Daddy sauce that Brian makes for their chicken nuggets. It consists of Ranch dressing and blue food coloring. They adore it.

Okay, let me go get the eggs out... See you tomorrow.

The Stairs or the Fire?

Making decisions has never been something I'm good at. Would I rather have pizza or Chinese food? I either don't care and defer to the company I'm with, or struggle about the merits of both options and torture myself with the what-ifs. I'm rarely good at quickly deciding on anything. 

But becoming a parent has sped up my decision-making process in most areas. Since I have twins, who go through the same stages at the same time, those decisions really sped up when they began walking. It was as if I was being forced in a split second to answer nearly-philosophical questions that deserve pondering and postulating over. For example: one boys toddles off toward the stairs as another nears a blazing fire. Which do I grab first? Is being burned worse than falling? Ready, set, go! Decide! Now! One boy is eating a bug out of the sand, the other is racing toward the water without a life jacket. BAM. Decide! It's seriously something that you might have a group discussion about in a philosophy class. If Hitler were drowning in a river, and you were a lifeguard, would you jump in and save him? That type of thing. Is it worse for Clark to step on and break his guitar or for Calvin to pee all over the floor? It's really a tough call.

Now there are the discipline decisions since both boys are fond of throwing loud obnoxious fits lately. What is the nature and degree of the offense? If one boy won't stop kicking me while I change his diaper, should I kick him back (Which I've gently done while sitting down and it works like a charm, because it offends them. It's like a slow motion pretend kick, but they hate it.), or do I put him in his bed for a time out? Does one boy hitting the other boy in self-defense deserve the same disciplining that an offensive hit warrants? Better decide fast!

I think I'm getting better at the split-second decision-making than I was pre-babies, but I'm still not much good at it. Or am I?

And what should I make for dinner…?

Is this the best way for him to learn not to stick his head in a fountain spout? Maybe.

Pool Wars I and II

This summer there have been two pool wars.

The first one was so horrendous, so heinous, so traumatic, that no photographers were able to capture a single picture of the incident. According to alleged eyewitness accounts, the timeline of events went something like this:

POOL WAR I

1.    Happy, excited parents get ready to take 2 year-olds, who liked the pool last year, for their first swim of the season.

2.       Parents load said 2 year-olds into the stroller and stroll over to their clubhouse.

3.       Children are chatting, talking about the pool and swimming.

4.       Children are divided up, one per parent, and ushered into separate dressing rooms.

5.       Parent 2 hears shrieks and screams coming from other dressing room as Parent 1 attempts to wrangle Child 1 into his one-piece floaty swimsuit doo-whopper.

6.       Parent 2 tries to wrangle Child 2 into the other one-piece floaty swimsuit doo-whopper and hears eerily similar shrieks and screams in the process.

7.       Flustered parents make their way out to the pool, dragging tear-stained Children.

8.       The scene: A father and his two happy sons frolic in the perfectly blue water and two willowy women of leisure recline with chunky sunglasses, discussing yoga and wine-tastings.

9.       Parents, thinking the children will calm when they enter the water, quickly enter the water, Parent 1 by way of jumping in and taking Child 1 in his arms, Parent 2 by carefully walking into the water from the shallow end.

10.   Childrens' bodies stiffen.

11.   High pitch shrieks of terror reverberate off the white pool deck.

12.   Parents talk calmly, exchanging panicked glances with each other, trying to comfort and soothe the monstrous creatures writhing in their arms.

13.   Foreign exchange student lifeguard shifts uneasily in her chair.

14.   Happy young boy swimmers offer Screamers their kickboards, hiding their shock at the sound level reached.

15.   Women raise waxed eyebrows.

16.   Parents return Screaming Monsters to the deck.

17.   Parent 1 jumps in the water, showing Screamers that he is fine, that he is having fun, that nothing bad is happening to him.

18.   Screamers start gagging they are crying so hard, “Daddy get out!”

19.   Daddy gets out.

20.   Screamers huddle together for comfort, still shrieking, but calming slowly.

21.   Parents agree they cannot continue to torture their fellow swimmers and must leave.

22.   Parent 2 points out a spider on the edge of the pool on the way out.

23.   Both Children stop fussing and bend over to see the spider.

24.   Spider goes into water.

25.   Children don’t want to leave the spider and start screaming again.

26.   Parents haul Screamers out.

27.   Lifeguard chuckles awkwardly in Polish.

28.    Parents exit clubhouse and stuff children, now calm, into the stroller, still in their one-piece floaty swimsuit doo-whoppers.

29.   Children look at each other and say, “Fun pool.”

30.   War ends, Children having defeated Parents.

POOL WAR II

For Pool War II, which was a good solid month and a half after Pool War I, the parents were much more prepared for possible reactions and sought to minimize all reactions beforehand.

Children were shown a slideshow of pictures of themselves enjoying the water last summer as little 1 year-olds. This time the destination was a backyard and the pool was a blow-up pool with water maybe a foot and a half deep. There was temperature control. There was a lot of talking about the pool being a big bathtub. There were several toys to play with in the pool. The stage was set.

Upon time to enter the screaming began anew. Just as loud. Just as dramatic. Just as violent. It was neighborhood noise pollution in its most natural form. This time we did have a photographer on hand and so it is with pleasure that I present to you Pool War II, as a photo story.

Children watch slideshow of water fun last year

Brilliantly fun little pool

Drama increases as Children pace, wailing

After shrieking does not subside, Parent 2 enters pool fully clothed

Agony!

WHY?

I do not deserve this.

Okay, this actually feels kind of good.

Child 2 humors Parent 1 with shark face

Fun toys!

Can I slide down the tail?

No, but the car can!

I'm still not sure, but I think the Parents won Pool War II. Only time will tell. Meanwhile, those of you whose kids are normal like the pool, count yourselves blessed.