Summer has arrived on the prairie.
Temperatures here in Illinois are reaching the high end of the thermometer, and with a newly fenced-in yard and a plastic swimming pool at the ready, I encourage The Poo to play outside as often as I can.
My motives are not entirely pure; I cravenly plot to wear her out so she’ll fall asleep on the couch. A nap, a nap, my kingdom for a nap!
Every morning when the weather is fine, I cajole, caper and complain until she reluctantly agrees to don her swim diaper and Little Mermaid bathing suit. We slather ourselves with sunblock and whip each other into a frenzy:
“Let’s get wet!”
“Yeah, Mommy! Let’s go swimming!”
The Poo steps outside into the bright sun and turns right back around.
“It’s toooooo hoooooot! Tooooo HOT, Mommy!”
She scrambles up the step back into the kitchen and runs for the sofa. Wrapped in a towel - completely dry - she begs for storybooks and cuddles.
At these moments she is channeling her father. Totally.
I met my husband on on Aug. 6, 1997. It was hot that day, and we met at a little cafe not far from my apartment. He was there when I arrived, sitting inside. That should have been my first clue.
My father had a boat back then, and I foolishly invited my new boyfriend out on the lake one dog-day afternoon not long after we became a couple. He hemmed and hawed, and finally told me he hated the heat and oh, by the way, he gets motion sick.
Let’s just say our outdoor time is limited. Getting him to the beach at Cape Cod is a feat in and of itself. There are a lot of rules: “…bring the umbrella, where’s my hat, I’m not taking my shirt off, get the SPF 50, let’s go early when it’s still cool, what’s for lunch? I have to wear a bathing suit? But I don’t look good in shorts!”
Oh, my husband. I love him. Really, I do.
When The Poo started to toddle last December, I indulged in fantasies involving sprinklers and impromptu trips to the lakeshore. Of course, the lake is out of the question now. But the sprinkler is still a possibility … right?
Wrong. Here I sit, at noon on a remarkably hot spring day, writing this essay in my bathing suit at the kitchen table.
Oh, well. At least I won’t need to shave my legs this summer.
[tags]parenting, generations, habits, genetics, couch potato[/tags]
Photo of monumental cuteness graciously provided by the author, all rights reserved
7 responses so far ↓
Slouching Mom // May 22, 2007 at 7:15 am
Heh. My older one doesn’t like the heat either, and I suspect he may have made his decision about which day camps to attend this summer based solely on whether they are held indoors or out.
Adorable picture of The Poo!
Christina // May 22, 2007 at 8:42 am
Actually, I dislike the heat, unless water is involved. If water is involved, I’m happy to be outside on a hot day.
Thordora // May 22, 2007 at 9:35 am
I’m just like your husband. I actually get sick in the sun-I have to limit myself in terms of when I go outside. I used to get heatstroke if I stayed in the pool too long.
Did I mention I hate summer?
Megin Hatch // May 22, 2007 at 3:59 pm
Thankfully, all of my kids love water activities.
Perhaps a cool pair of Poo-chosen sunglasses would help? I would also venture to guess that one beach day will turn that girl around. Don’t give up! Break the cycle!
On the + side, think of the money you’ll save on razors!
Lisa // May 23, 2007 at 5:28 am
oooo, that’s love. I am an inveterate beach person — two miles inland feels land-locked to me, and each day in this brief New England summer is spent outside. Fortunately, Calder agrees with me. I say, keep trying! once she figures out how GREAT it can be, perhaps she’ll change her mind…..
Binky // May 23, 2007 at 1:25 pm
The Boss loves being outside. She also loves being in the tub with the water as high as it can go. I think the inground pool at our new house is going to be the best thing that’s happened to her since…birth.
Greatexpectations // May 26, 2007 at 6:48 am
Oh how I wish I lived closer to the beach. I, too, love being outside. I dread the day I get turned away for such bliss.
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