The Wading Pool

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Hot again today.  This is our local pool.  Seven minutes away and the kids love it.

These are our cows before they moved to “Club Med”  the cow equivalent.

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Minty has a swimming lesson each evening.  While this is going on, Z runs and splashes and runs and splashes.  Once you learn how to walk, every moment after, you run.  Why walk?  So slow.  So she runs.

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The cows greeted Club Med with similar appreciation.  They didn’t run, but they tucked right in to the cool water.  It’s nice to have a splash when it’s very hot outside.

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The calves appreciated the water just as Z would.  In and out.  This one jumped out

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Then he did that calf stare.  See?  The calves stare at me.

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This gal found the cow scratch post.

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Nothing like a pool of water to ease this weather.
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Kicked Out Of The Queen Anne Paddling Pool

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You don’t have to have three young children to appreciate getting three young children from sub-burb-city parked car to paddle pool. As you can imagine, it’s not easy. Getting from point A – a beautifully paraLLeLLy parked minivan.  To point B – a crisp paddling, kiddie pool.  This should be a no urbanbrainer. Unless, of course, you have three young crazy chooks … blah … kids of your very own.  Because you yourself are crazy for taking your three young chooks to the paddling pool.   Yes, yes boring rhetoric.  So the three young monsters are at the pool, so what?

 

What?  The “swim diaper,” that’s what.  An evil plan direct to you from Huggies.  Huggies, monetized an entire line of diaper based on Phil’s sign that said,  “Welcome to our ‘ool!’  Notice there’s no ‘p’ in it!”  They, Huggies, know that swim diapers do not hold pee in, but rather, hold poo out.  Which brings me to the moment I got kicked out of the Queen Anne paddle pool.  They, an underpaid staff member with first aid training and no reference to my waddler’s poo schedule, told me that my wee one could not wee in the pool and therefore should wear a swim diaper.  But she already took a … and …  But I do not have this swim diaper you speak of?  And before I could get my two older giddy pool-going kids in the pool, I was ostracized.  I became The Lady With The Baby Without The Swim Diaper.  That was me.  And so I packed up, headed back to my beautifully parallel parked minivan and took my weeping non-pool-wet chooks back home.  I think we ate some fruit.

 

Skip to years later in a world that has not adopted the “swim diaper” ( but they exist, damn Huggies Europe ), and I show you what we do on the farm.  A little trick I picked up from the 31.  Roll out silage wrap, spray water … ET VOILA!  slippy sliding magic.  No swim diaper required.  It’s hot.  It’s wet.  Let’s slip!  Let’ slide!

 

We also pop off to the local pool and I’ve been welcomed like a mum who knows her baby.  Never once accused of not swim-diapering my toddler.  Giggles and fun.

 

And when I went back to that pool (yeah, I went back.  Yeah, with the swim diaper.  I feel so used ) before liberating myself to the wild, non-yuppie-poo-freaked-community, I saw a lady with young baby twins without swim-diapers who was about to be told off.  I caught her before Monsieur Staff and hipped her to the yuppie law.  I slipped her a couple S.D.s and told her to get out while there was still time.