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Broke Wife, Big City
The swimming
pool incident
By Aprill Brandon
Guys, it took me a long time but I finally found...hang on...sorry, I
need a moment. I just get so choked up about it, you know? But I
finally found...sigh...a friend with a pool. Like, a legit pool.
Inground and everything.
Better yet, I found this friend with a pool in time for the FOURTH OF
JULY. She had a cookout BY THE POOL. I have pictures. We all look like
we belong in a fancy beer commercial.
And when I think back on all those dreadful Independence Day
celebrations I had to sweatily endure. YEARS of them. Just sitting
there in the hot sun, water-less, hating all my stupid family and
friends gathered around me with their non-pool-having asses. Yay,
America or whatever. Sure, I’d love to have another beer so I can
immediately leak it out of my pores, leaving me sober but with belly
bloat and a slight headache, thanks.
But now...well, now, as I might have mentioned, I have a friend with a
pool. And I ain’t letting her go. I mean, I wouldn’t anyway because
she’s a great person, as are her husband and kids, and blah, blah,
blah. But, yeah, the pool. I could find out she likes to go on Arctic
cruises and club baby seals for fun while on vacation and I’d be like,
cool, cool. You’re clearly an awful human being and I have every
intention of stopping being your friend...in October. Mid-October at
the very latest if it’s one of those really warm autumns.
There was only one drawback to this otherwise amazing, life-changing,
event. Which, if you’re a parent, I’m sure you can relate. I mean,
don’t you guys hate that awkward moment when your kid tries to kill
your other kid? In public, no less?
We were all having such a good time too. Before, you know, the
attempted murder and all. Laughing and splashing and screaming at
everyone to stop splashing. My 2-year-old daughter was standing right
next to my 4-year-old son on the steps leading into the pool. Then I
blinked, like an idiot, and BOOM. The little one was facedown in the
water.
Luckily there were multiple other parents in the pool and since every
parent is a low key superhero, roughly six of them immediately dove
toward her and she was scooped out of the water within mere seconds.
Still, she was hysterical. Because drowning isn’t fun at any age but
especially at the age of 2. She was fine though. Everything was fine. I
was cuddling and cooing and comforting and ready to chalk the whole
thing up to childhood shenanigans...
...when, lo and behold, I heard one of the other kids say “he pushed
her” and I instantly knew who that “he” was. Which is how I went
immediately from feeling grateful that my one child was alive to
worried that my other child wouldn’t be for long.
Because I was going to kill him.
It’s an interesting feeling, that one. As a mom, you’ll do pretty much
anything to protect your family. Until that moment comes when you have
to protect your family from your family and then you’re just angry and
confused, a panting Momma Bear who is growling at everything because
you’re no longer sure who to strike out at.
I’m happy to report that there were no casualties that day. Mostly
because my husband took one look at my face and then quickly removed my
son from the scene so as to have a chat with him about why we don’t
drown our sister under any circumstances.
And within an hour we were all back playing in the pool. Because, let’s
face it, you can’t let a little thing like sororicide get in the way of
a good time.
If I sound a bit callous, or a bit too casual about the whole thing,
it’s probably because I am. Even I was a bit shocked at how quickly I
shook it off. But I learned three very important lessons that day.
One, drinking sangria your friends made that would put most frat houses
to shame helps blunt the edges off the never-ending stress of being a
parent.
Two, being surrounded by other parents when something like that
happens, parents who have been in the trenches, parents who are
hardened veterans, parents who have seen things, man, helps you realize
you are not alone and that your kids aren’t the only kids who have ever
tried to kill each other.
And three, in order to survive these precious but clearly hazardous
child-rearing years, you have to learn how to brush things like this
off. Like, oh, ha! Baby’s first attempted assassination. How adorable.
Did anyone get a photo?
Because when it comes down to it, we are all raising tiny psychopaths.
They’re learning. You hear that a lot as a parent. You tell yourself
that a lot as a parent. These kids, they hit and bite, they throw stuff
and spill stuff, they can’t control their emotions. Because, hey,
they’re learning. How to human. How to handle. How not to murder.
Which was clear the next day when my two kids were happily playing
together again, no thought of murder on either of their minds. Just
lots and lots of thrilling suicide attempts while seeing if they could
fly by jumping off the kitchen table.
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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