(More than) Fourinarow.net

I finally got my nerve up yesterday and took all five of my children to the pool.  A friend of mine had told me that the best time to go is between 4 p.m. and 6 p.m., as a lot of people leave for dinner.

Before leaving the house, I made sure everyone used the potty, had on their swim suits, and had their towels and flip flops.

Thankfully, my friend was right and the pool, despite the hot day, wasn’t all that crowded.  I felt pretty good about being able to keep an eye on everyone as we settled in and found a chaise for our stuff and some shade for the baby.  I doled out the goggles, laid down the law, and sent the kids toward the pool.  As I watched them, I pulled out my phone to call my sister back, as she’d called right when we were arriving.

I talked to my sister for, oh, about 3 minutes, before Luke came running/hopping/dancing toward me in a panic.  “I have to go poop!” He yelled.

“You have GOT to be kidding me,” I said, as I quickly ended the conversation with my sister.

“I HAVE to go,” he told me.  And, so, I scanned the area for Sam and grabbed him from the pool.  I plucked a mini pack of wipes from my bag.  I put the stroller into motion, and we headed to the bathroom.

“Here,” I told Luke, as I handed the wipes to him.  “I’ll wait right here.”  (Just outside the bathroom door, within site of the pool so I could watch for Jack and Maria.)

“You have to go with me!”  Luke told me.  “I can’t.  I have to watch for the others and I have the baby.  Go in, go poop, clean yourself up and come right back out.  Don’t talk to anyone,” I instructed.

Off he went.

I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Starting to panic, I found Jack and sent him in to check on his brother.  A few seconds later, he came back out and told me, “He’s fine!”

Still, we waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And then…

…here comes Luke, swimsuit around his ankles, waddling out of the bathroom, telling me he needs me.

“Pull up your pants!!!” I screeched.

“But I need you!” he told me.

“I can’t come in there.  It’s the boys bathroom!  Clean yourself up the best you can and GET YOUR PANTS ON!” I told him.

Off he waddled, back into the bathroom.

We waited again.

And waited.

And here came Luke again.  STILL WITH HIS PANTS DOWN.  (This is the child that worries that someone might see his privates after stepping from the bathtub at home.)

I rushed over to him and told him that he MUST pull up his swimsuit.  “But… but… but…” he sputtered.  “Just pull it up and come out.  We’ll find the family restroom and get you cleaned up.”

Finally, Luke came out fully suited.  We walked back across the pool area so I could get some more wipes from my bag and, before I turned around, Sam was gone… back into the pool.

Cursing under my breath, I hollered for Sam to come back out.  Got him dried off again, and explained that we had to find the other bathroom for Luke.

I checked on Maria and Jack and then took the baby, Luke and Sam to the other side of the pool area where the family bathroom is.  It, of course, was occupied.  We stood there for a minute or two before I aborted the plan and dragged the boys off to the women’s locker room. Knowing that my boys can’t keep their comments to themselves, I was thankful that there was no one in there in a state of undress.

I parked Sam and the baby in front of a stall and then took care of getting Luke cleaned up.  Not to give out too much info (little late for that, eh?) but he was pretty clean.  There was certainly nothing that warranted all the panic on his part.  But whatever.

We scrubbed our hands and I hustled everyone out of there.

Back at the pool, I checked on Jack and Maria and sent Luke and Sam back off to swim. For the 7 minutes left until adult swim.

“Really,” I thought to myself.  “You can’t make this stuff up.”