Determined not to let the afternoon degrade into a boredom fueled festival of whining and misbehavior, we decided to spend a few hours at the pool. While the boys ate lunch I packed our pool bag and gathered all of our pool toys. Then I dutifully coated each kid in sun screen, being sure to allow lots of time for it to properly soak in. Then we all happily jumped into the car, opened the windows, cranked up the radio, and drove to the pool. It was all very idyllic.
Until Wes jumped into the (eighteen inch deep) pool without me. I was about two feet away and until that moment he had been sitting obediently by the side like I had asked him to. I turned my head for a moment so I could throw the pool bag to the fence and that's when he made a break for it.
Without a second thought I jumped into the (eighteen inch deep) pool after him, lost my footing, and did a very flattering swan dive/belly flop into the water. But I was able to get Wes before the back of his hair got wet. Win!
Then Charlie, who saw the whole thing happen and thought my graceful little move was hilarious, mimicked me by jumping on my head and knocking my glasses into the water. When I'd recovered from that I noticed the screaming pain in my foot.
I looked down to see what was wrong to see my big toenail sticking up from my toe at a forty-five degree angle. Gag. Gag. Gaggy gag GAG. GAGAGAG.
And I was still pinned in the water with two kids on top of me. So I couldn't yell the first thing that came to mind. Which was R-rated. So it came out more like "OUCH OUCH OUCH!!" then, silently shit shit shit oh my holy mother of God what the hell happened why didn't you just take the whole toe it would be ten times less disgusting, then "OUCH! Mama hurt her TOE! Let's go get a bandaid! Come on, everyone out of the pool! Come on. NOW NOW NOW NOW!" and also, GAG.
The lifeguards gave me a giant bandaid and I carefully pushed the nail back down (GAG) and taped it up.
Then I had a magical time with my kids at the pool. Not so magical for Wes who wasn't allowed out of my arm's reach. My arm's reach while still keeping my screaming right foot out of the water. Charlie asked me why I couldn't put my foot in the water and I told him because it was bleeding and we don't want to get blood in the pool. When he asked him why I said, very lovingly, of course "For the same reason we don't want TINKLE in the pool!"
This satisfied him until Wes slipped and went face down in the water, requiring me to get all the way in AGAIN. When Wes was safely back on the side Charlie looked at me scornfully and said "You got GUNK in the POOL."
Shortly after that I couldn't take it any more and declared it time to go. Poor, poor kids.
Both were very good sports as we got dressed and buckled into the car. I reached into the pool bag for my keys and THEY WEREN'T THERE.
I tore the car apart, limping around on one and a half feet. Dumped out the pool bag and checked every nook and cranny of the carseats, every cup holder, under everything. Asked the kids. Got them back out of their carseats to check under their bottoms (surprisingly, they can be strapped in on top of a set of keys and somehow not notice. Princess and the Pea, they are not). No keys.
Finally, after shaking my fists at the universe, I gave in and dialed Ryan. Mortifying. While the phone was ringing and hot tears of anger and frustration were welling up in my eyes I found the keys stuck in the roof rack on my car. OF COURSE. I hung up on Ryan's voicemail, apologized to the kids for getting so upset about the keys, then drove straight to Starbucks for some caloric therapy.
Everything seemed better after some pink mini-donuts and iced tea.