Fun in the Sun

...and cool in the pool. Cliche but true.

Summer was officially marked as we went to my sister's apartment complex pool on Friday and a college friend's pool on Saturday. (Pictures above.)

I forget that while things change (I'm no longer the kid splashing around my folk's pool) things stay the same: from the smell of the sunscreen, the determined shouts to "get out of the pool NOW", to chips and dip, sqeamishes over wet bathing suits ("well, you should have hung it outside yesterday like I asked you to") to cold beer ("one sip... ONE sip, Stink... that's a Papa beverage"), belly flops, warm towels on lounge chairs, and motherly warnings ("NO RUNNING NEAR THE WATER!")

While the kids nap and we await our final swim outing of the weekend (a local friend's bbq slash pool extravaganza) Rex is planting vines while I am scrubbing the downstairs bathroom walls to prep the new color. It's official: I am sick of not having a working bathroom. However, (because there's always a "however" when you have kids and home repair issues - translating into time issues) before the toilet can go in I need to finish painting, Rex needs to put in the baseboards and beadboards and, finally, we need new doors.

Not pictured (lucky for you) are the many cockroaches that scurried out the open toilet pipe this afternoon as I started the scrubbing. It went something like this:

Me: "Ahhhhh! Roach!"

Rex scurries in, covered in dirt, throwing his hoe and brandishing a fly swatter. Bam! Bam! "Die roach Die!"

Rex walks away to garden. I tentatively move a box of painting supplies to scrub and another roach brazonly slithers over the roll brush.

Me: "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

Rex, running in again, towel swatting the walls like a cowboy rodeo clown. "Just smash it, you wuss!"

Me: "Hey! I resemble that remark! You smash it! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

Rex: Bam! "You gave birth to..." Bam! "Two kids. How..." Bam! "Fxxxxin' A - God-daxxxx those suckers are crafty... How hard can it be to kill a bug?"

But I was barely listening. I was in a fetal position in the kitchen, sipping coffee, praying for an Oprah special on Roaches in the Suburbs - How to Face Your Fears.

Painting and childbirth are my forte'. Cock roach assasination is not.

In a final note, a prayer to Jesus: "Dear Jesus. I know I'm a waffling Catholic. I know I don't attend church as much as I should, even though I am a Sunday School Teacher, which makes me not only a waffling Catholic, but a hypocrite. But please, send the locus and floods and blood to Moses. Keep the roaches away from me. I want, like my inner-life, a clean house. Thank you... Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!! Bam! Bam! Jesus Christ!"

Amen.