I realized this morning that there’s only one week left to the school year. That’s right, just one short week (five actual school days) until I can wave goodbye to school drop-offs and pick-ups, lunch preparation every night at ten o’clock (a smarter person would probably pack the lunches right after dinner before the kitchen is cleaned up, but I’m obviously not one of those people), and homework sessions that seem to go on for ages and ages because Fin has been writing all day and really just wants to toss his pencil and break out the Legos, For two long, glorious months, we can ‘chillax’ (Cal’s new favorite word that makes his daddy cringe) and do all the summertime things that we wait all year to do.
Now, my idea of summertime fun is going for a long walk along the provincial park trails and topping it off with a barbecue in the back yard (can’t you smell the Costco steaks and grilled halloumi cheese through the computer screen?). The hubby’s idea of a perfect summer day is going for a long bike ride, puttering around the yard (probably with a beer in hand) and then a scrumptious barbecue to top it all off (this post is really making me hungry). And the boys? They’re in it for the water parks, the spray parks, the day trips to lakes, the blow-up pool and the water guns outside. Basically, if the activity involves getting thoroughly soaking wet, they’re in.
Which brought me to my next realization. I need a new bathing suit. Desperately. I think the last time I bought a bathing suit was when George W. Bush was still in the White House. Maybe even his first term. That just goes to show you how I feel about bathing suit shopping – I’d much rather pluck my own toe nails out with a pair of tweezers than spend hours trying on suits and weeping in the changing room (that’s a bit drastic, but you get my point). But I also don’t want to feel like a complete mess in a frayed, over-stretched bathing suit at the water park. This is a small neighborhood….we might know people there. It takes forever to make a good impression, but only one really bad bathing suit to completely ruin it and make your neighbors run the other direction in complete horror.
So off to the mall I went.
Ro-Ro and I had two free hours this morning while Cal was at preschool. I promised him a Starbucks hot chocolate and one of their slices of banana loaf if he was a good boy and helped me pick out a swimsuit. “Sure!” he said in a sweet voice (which in three year old language actually means “Not in your wildest dreams”), but I was optimistic. Or foolish. It’s a toss-up, really.
Fail number one – I forgot the stroller. After nearly seven years of having kids, I should really know better.
Not a big deal. Ro-Ro was in a good mood and the store had just opened, so we were pretty much the only shoppers in there. In record time, I scooped up nine possible swimsuits off the racks (as Ro-Ro hid under each and every rack, knocking off some of the suits along the way, and giving away his hiding spot by whispering “You’ll never find me” in his trademark gremlin voice. He doesn’t really get the whole hide-and-seek thing yet).
Off to the changing room we went. I sat Ro-Ro up on the chair and explained to him that I was going to try on each of the swimming suits and then we would leave the store.
“You can tell me how each one looks – good, not good, whatever.”
“Whatever.” he replied. I probably shouldn’t have used that word. Now he’ll answer ‘whatever’ to everything. The little parrot.
I tried on the first swimming suit.
“How’s this look, Ro?”
He looked up from the hanger he was playing with and said “Not good.”
Right. Well, at least he’s honest. I looked at myself in the mirror and it most certainly did not look good. There’s nothing about a strapless, striped tankini on me that looks ‘good’.
I put the next one on.
“What’d ya think?”
He looked up at me again.
“Really not good.”
Sometimes kids are brutally honest. He’s lucky he’s cute.
I tried on another one and looked in the mirror at myself. Not too bad. It definitely disguised any trace of leftover baby tummy. I might be able to be seen in public in this.
“I think this one’s ok, Ro. You think so?”
Ro-Ro was busy trying to lock two hangers together. Without even looking up, he muttered “Really not good.”
I should have known better than to ask a three year old for his opinion on swimming suits. You’re a fool, Nikki. On to the next one.
I didn’t even have the suit fully on when Ro-Ro looked up and blurted out “Dis.Gus.Ting.”
“Hey! I don’t even have it on all the way yet! How do you know that it doesn’t look good?” I gave him a good tickling on his belly.
“Just saying!” he tried to yell through his giggles. I could hear the woman in the next changing room snickering.
Just as I was starting to think that I couldn’t be bothered trying on any more swimming suits, Ro-Ro walked over to the corner of the changing room and said “Can I go to the potty here?”
“Umm, no. This isn’t a bathroom, Honey.”
“I think my poo is coming out.”
And that was it. Search over. Shopping done. I’m pretty sure I set a world record for getting dressed in the quickest amount of time possible. I scooped up Ro-Ro in one arm, grabbed the swimming suit that didn’t look shockingly bad in the other hand, and pushed tush out of there as quickly as I could.
As it turns out, he didn’t have to poo at all. I’m pretty sure he learned that tactic from his older brothers. But, there’s nothing like the threat of your son pooping in the corner of the changing room to help you make a quick decision.