Another day, another swim meet. Fortunately, this one is at our own pool. Unfortunately, it’s my fucking birthday. Why must I sit at the pool on my birthday watching a swim meet? It must be because I’m such a dedicated mother.
I must admit, I do have a gigantic University of Illinois coffee mug (more like an urn with a handle on it) filled with vodka coffee! Of course! It’s coffee! Why wouldn’t it be? I had high hopes, because our town has free public wifi installed along the train tracks, and I was hoping that it would reach here at the pool. I was wrong. Oh well. So, I’ll write this babble, which I owe to my blog and my wonderful, unbelievably dedicated and loyal readers, while I’m sitting here. I came a little late, and because of that, I have absolutely no idea what event we’re on. Grace has event 25, 55, and 65. If you’re familiar with how swim meets work, you know that means I’ll be here until the end of time. If you’re not familiar with swim meets, count yourself lucky. They’re almost as bad as wrestling meets, only one is not required to spend several hours stuck inside a sweaty, stinky gym.
A couple of really smart people brought blankets. I, however, am not that smart. I’m dressed warmly, but I do not have a blanket. If I had brought a blanket, I would be asleep right now. And that wouldn’t be cool.
So, what’s up with me? Well, my first article for the local paper, reporting on our “Gathering on the Green” appeared in yesterday’s paper. That was extremely exciting. As of earlier this afternoon, it was not yet up on the website, but I’ll be sure to update you when it is, because of course you want to read it, even though it was edited in such a way as to make my first few paragraphs not make much sense. I guess I’ll have to get used to that.
I might have to push that woman sitting a couple feet away from me off her chair and steal her blanket. It’s every woman for herself at this point.
I’m starting a new job soon. It’s actually going to be the first real job I’ve had in about 12 years, so it’s somewhat exciting. What’s also exciting is that I passed several tests, an interview, a psychological assessment, a physical including a drug test, and a background check in order to get this job. I will be starting next week, Thursday, the day after Independence Day (fitting, no? And cruel?) as a part-time “Police Telecommunications Operator” in a neighboring town. Yep. I’ll be a dispatcher. For the town in which I attended high school. I’m guessing their background check wasn’t super thorough, or else didn’t go very deep, or else didn’t bother to dive into their own files, because I’ve seen the inside of that police station, and at the time, I was most certainly not going to get paid to do it. In fact, I distinctly remember my name being called and being led into the dispatcher’s room, with the big old bullet-proof window, a police officer pointing to my father and saying, “Is that your father?” I remember looking at the man standing there, emanating hot anger, his eyeballs ’bout ready to pop from his head, his fists clenched, and considering saying, “Uh, no. I’ve never seen that man before in my life!” And being glad I hadn’t when the next question was “Are you comfortable going home with him?”
Side note: When I was younger, well, actually, it’s still there but I haven’t had to sit on it in a loooong time, my father, when I or one of my brothers were in trouble, would invite us into his den, a place we NEVER went unless we were in trouble, and tell us to sit on the couch. My dad had this thing (and he admitted to much that night he picked me up from the police station) where he would yell and scream about just about anything, but when he was really angry, he was very very quiet. That night, he spoke very quietly. I think I was grounded for about six years.
Anyway, Grace is about to swim the 50 fly, so I need to go scream my head off. It’ll warm me up. Be right back.
Okay, well, not so good. Butterfly is not her stroke.
That makes me think of a little story from the meet last week. Grace’s last event was a relay, and she was on a team with a young woman who uses a wheelchair. I don’t know how well her legs work, but I’m pretty certain she swims with mostly upper body strength. One of the girls who was slated to be on their team didn’t show up that night, so Grace volunteered to swim the first and the last leg. By that time, she was beat. She’d been at practice earlier in the day and had swum an hour of laps, had spent most of the day at the pool playing with her friends, and had swum two events in the meet already. She swam her first leg, and then stood by the side of the pool screaming her teammates on. The disabled girl, who swam second, came in about the same time as the opponents were swimming their third. Grace was right there at the edge of the pool, waiting to slap her five and yelled, enthusiastically and with all her heart, “Great job, we’re doin’ it, excellent!” And then she ended up swimming the whole fourth leg alone. I was all teary-eyed over it myself, just so proud of her for volunteering, when she was tired as hell, to swim two legs, and also because she was just fully enthusiastic about swimming, period. I don’t even think she comprehends the competitive aspect of it. She was delighted to check her folder a couple of days later and find two blue ribbons. And she was more focused on her own team members than anything else. I don’t even think it occurred to her, in any way, that the disabled girl on her team would bring down her time. She simply didn’t care.
One of those proud-as-hell moments, for sure. My kids are better people than I am, for sure.
Could someone come over here and grab my cup and make me a fresh vodka tonic? coffee with cream and sugar? Thanks.
I could use a cigarette.
I’ve published an interview I did with one of the people who commented on that ancient “men in diapers” post I did nearly two years ago, on Newsvine. I’ll repost it here when I get home. It’s pretty, um, interesting.
Also interesting is something, but in the time since I typed the words “also interesting” and the time I resumed typing, because I had to call my husband and have a conversation with a neighbor, I forgot what it was that was also interesting. Oh well.
You know what’s annoying? I have to pee. Have you ever peed in the bathroom of a public-ish pool? It’s, um, a damp experience, to say the least.
