Renounce your foreign princes

Our summer was nearly neverending because our teachers went on strike.  They were on strike for good reasons and we supported them -- go teachers, get 'er done, we love you, etc. etc. -- but what was coming out of my lips did not necessarily match what was happening in my head.  My head was more "please school now please school now please school."

After an extra week of summer, the strike was settled.  My kids are now happily back in the classroom and I feel like revisiting some significant summer happenings.  Don't worry, I'm finished talking about the road trip. The dog story was the climax of that tale.

Speaking of Natani, let's play a game.  It's called "Find the Dog" --

She truly believes I cannot see her under there.

She goes there when she's done something awful, which is often.

She is wide-eyed and surprised when I "find" her.

She thinks I am a Magic Lady.

The kids took more swim lessons over the summer, which was exciting because I got unexpected beer --

The best part of this photo is not the beer

It's the yellow frog pool float in the background

screaming its silent panicked frog scream

Our swim teacher holds swim lessons in private backyard pools all over the city.  There aren't many private pools in Seattle so you usually end up in the backyard of a very wealthy person. This particular wealthy person was the first we've encountered to offer beer to the parents.  In his world, swim lesson time = party time.

In other big news, Alex is now an American citizen. 

Rejoice, Americans, he's all ours.

The U.S. Naturalization ceremony is solemn and emotional because there are newly naturalized Americans crying all over the place.  Many people fight hard to get here and stay here. To them, the day they become a United States citizen is the culmination of a long-pursued dream.  It's beautiful to witness.

But to our family, it's more a technicality than a life-changing event. Alex has lived and worked here legally for over 15 years.  The official American status wasn't going to change much in our daily lives.  Plus Alex is Canadian, which is already like being American only less aggressive.

Our more relaxed approach to citizenship allowed us to sit back and embrace the humor of the event. Alex raised his eyebrows at me when part of the pledge asked the new Americans to renounce their allegiance to "foreign princes."  We also made the newbies promise to take up arms and fight for their new country if necessary.  I enjoyed picturing the 92-year old Ukrainian woman, who could not stand without the help of an aide, holding a machine gun.  Maybe she can at least toss a grenade or two.

U.S.A.!  U.S.A.!

That's Alex, second row back near the column,

pissing off Canadian Princes by renouncing them

We had an AMERICA! themed dinner celebration that night with some friends.  They brought Alex American-themed presents like a pair of American flag flip-flops and a six-pack of Bud Light.  We grilled hamburgers and hot dogs, made mac-n-cheese, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, potato salad, apple pie.  I even suspended fruit in jello -- that's being a true American -- and sent everyone home with a Hostess Ding Dong party favor.

Welcome to my country, Alex.  Our food is not healthy but our hearts are full of love.

Alex and I spent a weekend solo in Portland for the MusicFest Northwest music festival.  Portland is lovable in a pretentious hipster kind of way. One young woman brought a bag of knitting to The Helio Sequence show and knit through the entire set.  Another woman seated next to me at the Beirut show wore a prairie style dress complete with casually askew tied bonnet.

One woman stopped me as I walked past to tell me she loved the fabric of my shorts.  I said "thanks" and she said, "Did you make them?" I replied "Nope, I can't sew, I bought them" and immediately lost her respect.  Her mouth turned down a little and she turned away from me without another word. Only in Portland is the default -- and the preferable -- that you made your clothes instead of buying them.

The next time someone told me they loved my shorts (they are unarguably amazing shorts with a teal and orange Birds of Paradise pattern) I didn't wait for her to ask, just immediately said I made them.  The woman brightened and said, "Well yeah, sure, right on."  I'm a fast learner, you see.

I also told them I wove my own hat

out of vegan straw

on a loom used by my great grandmother

who was gluten-free before it was cool

and was a fan of that one band before they went mainstream

I convinced Alex to stand in front of the stage for over an hour to secure a front row position for The Tallest Man on Earth.  It was Alex's first time in "The Front" at a music festival and he soon discovered how tense it can be as people jockeyed and jostled into position.  People were so nasty standing in front of that stage, I'm starting to think the "making-your-own-clothes" and coy Laura Ingalls get-ups are brilliant covers for how brutal those Portland people truly are.

Alex, despite his claustrophobia and general disinterest in music festivals, was a trooper.  He held his ground and we threw elbows together, beating rabid Portlanders back until The Tallest Man on Earth took the stage.  We were so close to him we could look straight up his nose.  He played the best set of the weekend so it was worth the hassle and general snottiness of our fellow concert goers.

Speaking of rabid and out of control people, our annual "last hurrah of summer " weekend happened again on Guemes Island with the usual suspects.  We were 20 people in all, tents pitched on the beachfront lawn of a friend's property, refrigerator stocked, coolers full.  We were all set for relaxation and easy living. Nature, however, had other plans.

Our annual hike up Mount Guemes began nicely enough.  We saw the dark clouds approaching when we reached the top -- word on the island was a windstorm was headed our way -- so began our descent very soon after our ascent.

that sky looks all kinds of pissed off

Almost immediately, the trees towering above began swaying like drunkards on a dance floor.  The sounds of creaking wood and breaking branches from a hundred feet up are not welcome when you're on a heavily forested trail, trust it.

I was hustling down the trail with Seattle Mom and Seattle Mom 2 when we heard a loud *crack* overhead.  Seattle Mom and I took a leap backwards, Seattle Mom 2 a leap forwards just in time -- a large branch from way up yonder crashed onto the path between us.  We stood in shocked silence for a beat until Seattle Mom yelled "Let's get the f*ck out of here" and we began to run.

Our group had spread out on the mile-long path on the way down.  No one knew for certain where their kids were, or where anyone was for that matter.  We just yelled through the forest to MOVE IT, PEOPLE, MOVE IT and hoped like hell everyone hustled.  The relief was palpable when the last kid, the last Dad, the last Mom tumbled out of the forest onto the road below.  We were still in danger but at least we were in danger all huddled together in one big wide-eyed group.

We funneled everyone into cars and took off for our cabin.  We didn't make it more than a couple hundred feet before we encountered a giant tree down across the road.  We then gunned our caravan of cars in the opposite direction and sh*t -- another tree down, this time lying on what appeared to be a power line.

It's interesting to see how people you love respond in a crisis.  Some get anxious and frantic, some get quiet and focused, some get deer-in-the-headlights, some rock themselves quietly in corners and talk to themselves, some get pissed off, some decide it's hilarious and an opportunity to party (I'm looking at you there, Seattle Dad).

No matter our instinctive reactions, we all pulled our sh*t together enough to convince the kids "everything's fine! So fun and exciting!" and eventually made it around the downed tree on the power line (some locals coming from the other direction threw rocks at it, touched it, licked it, whatever their machismo directed them to do to determine there was no power, then nudged the tree slightly out of the way with their pick-up truck) only to get stuck farther down the road by yet another big downed tree.

We surrendered and decided to park on the road near the water -- no trees, for the love of god, no trees -- to wait for help to arrive.  It was a relief to be away from those wildly swaying death bombs but only slightly more relaxing to be fully exposed to the windstorm.  It rocked our cars hard; I passed the time trying to guess which friend would tip over first.

I'm betting on you, Seattle Dad

One Mom stayed back at camp that morning because she wasn't feeling well.  She wanted a nice quiet leisurely morning, a hot shower, a nap in an attempt to cure herself of her ills. WELL TOO BAD, SEATTLE MOM.

We instead got text after text from her saying our tents had collapsed and were blowing down the beach and she was trying her best to keep them in the area by throwing lawn chairs on top of them. The situation was dire and she was in need of backup.  We explained the tree situation, told her to do her best, that we understood if she couldn't save everything, and mentally prepared ourselves for the loss of all our stuff.

She sent this photo and said, "Guys, this is happening right now!"

And we were like, "that is actually kind of hilarious."

Eventually the island emergency crews arrived with chainsaws and bulldozers and got to work on the trees.  Our tents were no longer where we left them when we got back to camp but they hadn't wandered too far away. Our family's tent had blown into a thorny bush. The resulting bent poles and giant holes ripped in the sides rendered it useless forevermore but at least we were reunited with the stuff inside.  We thought we'd lost you forever, favorite camping lantern.

The brutal winds continued for hours. We dragged the remains of the tents into the garage.

(Fun fact: Al, Lucien, Coco and I slept on top of all that stuff in the garage that night.  

There was nowhere else for us to go.)

Then we sat on the back porch of the cottage, drank margaritas, hugged each other and watched a speedboat anchored offshore capsize.  You can't take your eyes off a capsizing boat, it's pathetic yet majestic as it tips bow-up, then slides slowly down into the water.

The winds eventually died down.  The sunset was amazing.  We were happy to be together.

All 20 concur; this was not our most relaxing weekend together.  

But it was perhaps one of the more memorable. 

We'll see you next year, Guemes Island.  

Please don't pull that crap again.

I forgot to mention something earlier about Alex's swearing-in naturalization ceremony day.  Coco went to a Jump Start program for Kindergarten that morning so couldn't attend the ceremony with us. Alex kissed her goodbye as she headed out the door and said, "Good luck at Jump Start, Coco" and she replied, solemnly, both hands on his shoulders, "Good luck being American, Daddy".

Speaking of which...
I'm sorry I ate one of your American Flag flip-flops, Human Dad.

I'm glad you can't see me.

OH MY GOSH, SHE FOUND ME AGAIN HOW DOES SHE DO IT

Neverending summer has finally ended,
MJ

Il nage comme une pierre

There's an earthquake button in this elevator. I fear it's a Godlike button that would bring about an earthquake if you pressed it. Maybe it's more of an informational button, like you suspect you're in an elevator during an earthquake but aren't sure so the button starts blinking to let you know you do, in fact, have the worst timing ever.

Maybe it's a hidden camera thing -- it captures the image of anyone stupid enough to press an earthquake button in an elevator and sends it immediately to the police because that person should not be out just walking around making decisions all the time.

I'll never know the answer in an empirical way because everyone who stepped onto the elevator and noticed the button quickly jumped back with a "what-the-HELL-IS-THAT?"  The U.S. elevator etiquette rules no longer applied;  my fellow elevator riders and I clustered together in one corner, as far from the button as possible.  Even the other elevator buttons sensed the danger and tried to stay away.

We're in earthquake country here in Seattle.  We don't eff around.

But damn, she's so pretty

Coco and Lucien have swim lessons once a week after school.  This past week, they got involved in some kind of intense project in the yard right before we were to leave.  I yelled out the front door repeatedly, "Don't get too wrapped up in that, we have to leave for swim lessons soon."  Then two minutes later, "Guys, don't forget swim lessons, don't forget swim lessons," and a few minutes after that, "Swim lessons swim lessons swim lessons love those crazy swim lessons."

Then I walked off to continue painting the guest room.  It's such a pretty color in there now, makes me feel like I'm doing a back float in my very own hidden tropical lagoon.  So peaceful.... so peaceful.  Lucien appeared an hour later in his swimsuit to find me covered in paint and hugging the wall.  He said, "What time do we leave for swim lessons?" and I looked at the clock and said, "Oh....yeah, we missed swim lessons."

Then Lucien gave me the most peculiar look, almost as if he was realizing he was not born to the most impressive authority figure.  He was skeptical; perhaps I had no right in the world to tell him what to do and perhaps he should be surprised I can even get up and dress myself in the morning?  I could tell I was about to lose his respect so I did what I had to do -- I quickly accused him of farting.  He flailed around in denial, totally distracted.  Works every time.

Swimming lessons are kind of futile anyway.  Lucien is not catching on and has little interest in doing so.  As I recently said to my in-laws, who are here visiting at present, "Il nage comme une pierre."

(He swims like a rock.)

We have a grossly obese praying mantis.  I don't think praying mantises are used to eating as much as we're feeding ours.  Mantisy thinks he's hit the jackpot but his mind will change when his abdomen explodes.

This is a normal praying mantis

This is Mantisy

Whoops

We just love him so much.

My in-laws are in town so Alex and I absconded to a hotel for a night.  It sounds sexier than it is; we spent most of our evening lying facedown on our side-by-side queen beds saying things like, "Ahhh...these sheets don't smell like feet.  Let's never leave."

The city looks so much prettier when you don't have one kid darting into traffic and the other tugging dangerously hard on your skirt's elastic waistband and begging for Cheetos.

Al and I headed to Pike Place Market early the next foggy morning to collect ingredients.  We were having some friends over that night for a seafood extravaganza dinner.  The guys at the seafood stand were very helpful in our selection of dungeness crabs and halibut fillets and mussels and scallops but I still punched one in the face when he gave me the grand total. We love our friends (and the cioppino was delicious) but you people pricey.

We still feel lucky to have this in our backyard

Coco turned 4 over the weekend.  Coco is a study in contrasts.  She invited mostly boys to her party and insisted on sword fighting with them but also insisted on wearing this --

And insisted on having a cake that looked like this --

We put Lucien in charge of entertainment.  He took his job seriously and planned games all week.  When the time came, Lucien was a rock star.  He held the rapt attention of all party-goers, many of whom suffered from a case of Lucien-worship before they even arrived at the party.  He's either going to be President of the United States or a cult leader, tough to say.

He had great success with his treasure hunt and straw throw (?) games.  He then taught the kids a game called "Make it Rain Money" in which he stood at the top of the stairs and rolled pennies towards the rosy-faced kids below.  He faked them out by adding occasional bottlecaps, which one boy promptly began putting in his mouth.  "What?  Aren't we past that age now?" I wondered as I pried open his surprisingly strong lips.

The kid with the most pennies at the end "won."  There was lots of scrabbling on the floor, some bonked heads, some tears.  Hey, it's a cutthroat world out there.  These kids gotta learn you've got to fight for every cent you have, even if it means hitting someone over the head with a My Little Pony to get it.

(My sincere apologies to the parents of the children at the party.)

And happy, happy birthday to our favorite Paris souvenir. 

Snow White will cut you.

For now, Lucien is staying put in his public school.  The deciding factor was my many meetings and communications with his current teacher. She's just too damn good to leave.  She's not warm and fuzzy but I don't need a teacher to stroke my hair while I tell her my troubles.  I need a teacher who will work with us regarding what he needs in the classroom, a teacher who's got her eye on The Loosh and will notice, and grab onto his collar, if he slips into the pit of despair.

Her sharp-eyed hawk-like nature pleases me immensely.  So we stay this year.

With the 50 bazillion dollars we'll "save" this year by not sending Lucien to private school, we will be able to afford lots of occupational therapists, tutors, assorted psychologists, and clowns. We can have one tucked away into every corner of Banister Abbey should any unanticipated educational or emotional crisis arise.  On second thought, drop the clowns.  Clowns tucked into corners and popping out at unexpected times may be a recipe for trauma.

My in-laws have been here for a week.  I love when they visit because not only are they great people, they always do the dishes after dinner.  I was also happy to discover I remember a lot of my French, at least once I've heard it again for a few days and have had a couple drinks.  It helps.

The bad news is after they leave us, my in-laws were originally supposed to visit Yosemite.... and Kings Canyon.... and some other national parks.  *cough cough we suck*  They are now restructuring their entire vacation from our dining room table. 

I'm roasting some potatoes right now.  In the recipe it said "sprinkle generously" in regards to the seasoned salt mixture but I read it as "sprinkle dangerously."  And for just a moment, I felt alive. 

Fingers crossed we make swim lessons this week,
MJ

Cabin fever

I chaperoned the Valentines Day party that involved all three classes of the First Grade.  Call it insanity, but I truly enjoy my time with those kids.  I think it's their blinky eyes blinking up at me, and the way they all want to hold my hand, and the awkward toothy first-grader grins.

The party ran long.  There was no time for kids to sift through the pile of coats dumped outside the party because the buses were about to leave back at school. We had to run the three blocks from the party location to the school, without coats, GO! GO! GO! to catch those buses. I imagined the horrified expressions of parents at bus stops when Little Johnny disembarked in February without his coat, teeth chattering.

Loyal chaperone I am, I filled a box with all the coats and followed behind the sprinting masses, dragging it along the sidewalk until I couldn't feel my arms very well.  I dumped the coats onto the sidewalk in front of the buses and helped kids throw them on as they boarded.  Every kid left with a coat.

There will someday be a folk song written about me, the trusty chaperone who wouldn't let the kids go home cold, entitled, "Cold Kid, Warm Heart."

Alex and I went to see a play at Capitol Hill's Annex Theatre Friday night.  It was called "Undo" and took place in an alternate reality where, if you want a divorce, you must live your wedding in reverse.  All the same people must attend and wear the same clothes, the presents are given back, and in the case of the Jewish ceremony portrayed in this instance, the glass is glued back together.

The great thing about the Annex Theatre, and so many fringe theaters in Seattle, is there's a bar in the lobby and you can carry your drinks into the theater for the show.  The PBRs at the Annex Theatre bar are $2 and deliciously refreshing; the mixed drinks are crappy and expensive.  I think you know which way I'm leaning with this recommendation.

What transpired on the Annex Theatre stage was a beautiful piece of theatre.  Really, truly.  It had it all -- laughs, tears, and lesbians.  There was also some sad sex (you must do everything you did on your wedding day to make peace with God, even if it was f*cking on your dressing table).

The man sitting behind us said loudly at the intermission, "Watching things like this makes me realize how ridiculous human relationships are."  All of us within earshot murmured our agreement and bought another PBR.

Here's some advice if you see a play at the Annex -- at intermission, run for the bathroom.  Get there first no matter what.  Push those bitches to the ground and don't look back and here's the reason why: there are only two toilets, two single stalls.  And a fifteen minute intermission. And one hundred people in the theater all drinking beer.  Do the math then do what you must do *cracks knuckles*

Al and I and the kids went to a friend's cabin for the long weekend.  It was just us; the cabin is often empty and our friend has been telling us to use it for years.

We left for the cabin right after Lucien and Coco's swim lessons Saturday morning.  I love watching the group of boys in Lucien's class learn to swim.  They all have their own style: some wide-eyed and freaked out (Lucien), others goofy and trusting in the world (the one whose eyes are slightly glazed) and some who should never be allowed near a body of water (the one sinking like a stone).

Our friend's cabin is in the South Puget Sound area, on a peaceful little lake upon which no motors are allowed.  Paddle boats, kayaks and canoes are the vessels of choice.  The four of us climbed into a paddle boat and made it halfway around the lake before Coco started complaining her belly hurt. We figured out she was seasick when she turned light green.

In the middle of a lake on a space-challenged paddle boat, seasickness is serious business.  Alex and I pedaled as fast as we could back to the cabin but went nowhere thanks to the direction of the wind and Lucien's erratic handling of the rudder.  I imagined the other residents of the lake watching us with binoculars and laughing hard until they fell down.  Our predicament would have made me laugh, too, if I wasn't in such fear of a girl hurl.

We made it back to the dock without incident.  And now we know Coco prefers land.

Alex tried to teach Lucien how to canoe, which led to this, my current favorite photograph.  I call it "The Reluctant Canoe Lesson" --

Oscar the schnauzer came with us to the cabin.  It was immediately apparent our dog is not a majestic wild beast.  Our dog is a confused little old man who can't figure out where the hell he is so just curls up inside our suitcase full of towels and waits for it to be over.

 

I hate these people.  I want to go home.

The cabin's only source of heat was a wood stove.  It was a toasty warm, pleasantly wood-smokey scented existence until the middle of the night when the fire burned out and we awoke, so cold we didn't dare plan for the future.  I pushed Alex out of bed each morning with a frigid foot, yelling at the kids to stay snug in their bunk beds until Daddy built a fire.  Thankfully, Alex was once a successful boy scout and his fire-building skills are unmatched.

As cozy as they can be, what is is about cabins that makes them feel like they're constructed of cardboard and Saran Wrap?  And why all the wood paneling?  And why do they all smell the same, musty and woody with a hint of Grandma?

When a cabin is owned by a friend like ours, who offers it to friends and family on a regular basis, the bathroom is a mess of half-empty shampoo and conditioner bottles.  It's like a hundred hotels threw up on each other or, better yet, all the bottles are there competing for the right to wash your body.

  

 "Pick me, pick me"  

There was no internet or TV at the cabin so we were forced to unplug.  At first it was uncomfortable but then we started telling each other stories.  And cooking meals together.  And chopping wood together.  You should see Coco handle an ax, my God, a natural! 

  

We enjoyed "communicating" so much, we've added "buy a cabin" to our list of long-term goals.  We can't do it now, but maybe, hopefully, someday we will own our very own lake cottage with doilies for curtains and circa-1970s avocado green appliances.

Well isn't that just f*cking great news

Our return home was not glorious.  Lacking the desire to cook, I took Coco with me to the Taco Time drive-thru to grab dinner.  At the very moment I pulled up to order, Coco threw up in the back seat.  She was suddenly hot, miserable, and very, very ill.  

The Taco Time lady on the intercom asked for my order a couple times but apparently my words, "Hang on, baby, hang on" aimed over my shoulder into the back seat didn't make sense to her.  She said, "Excuse me?" a couple times until I said, "I'm not talking to you!"  

There was a long pause and then the Taco Time lady said, "ummm....you're not talking to me?"  And I yelled, "No, no not yet!" as I scrambled for paper towels in the backseat.  There was another pause and then she said, the way you would to someone who's obviously very dim, "Do you mean to be in the drive-thru, ma'am?"

Al and I hugged in the kitchen for awhile after I returned with my hard-fought Taco Time order.  Even though life never seems to slow down, at least that part was nice.

Your faithful chaperone forever,

MJ

The wide world of sports

Here are the kids playing a game called "Castle."  In this game, you face your opponent and throw rocks at them, inflicting as much bodily harm as possible.  The most successful "Castle" players have quick reflexes and can duck behind the concrete pillars (which we dug out of the ground during Banister Abbey's facade renovations) before taking a rock to the face.
 
Alex and I were in the yard fixing his bike.  We were so engrossed in covering ourselves with bike grease we didn't notice the violent game happening ten feet away.  By the time we looked up, both kids were injured and very mad at each other.  They each said things to the other that can never be unsaid.  I hope their youthful brains forget quickly; otherwise, all future family Christmases are doomed to be tense.

Speaking of games, I was a football fan for a few hours last week.  Our Seattle Seahawks were in the playoffs and looked to have a pretty good shot at the Super Bowl.  In retrospect, of course, we had no chance at all because the Seahawks will always break your heart.

I joined a handful of friends at our local sports bar where we commenced drinking beer at 10:00 a.m. 10:00 a.m. is a strange time to drink beer but we don't get to choose the start time of the game.  We can only blindly obey and put beer to lips when that kicky guy kicks the ball down the field and people start running all over the place on the TV.

The Seahawks were down 0-20 at halftime.  My football fanatic friends didn't want to talk much at that point, just wanted to search their smart phones for a ray of hope.  They looked up stats for teams who came back to win after such a miserable score at the half.  The search results were not comforting so my friends then sat there looking grumpy.

Help me, phone

Then, in perhaps the greatest comeback in NFL history, Seahawks scored and scored and scored some more.  They scored like they'd known how to score all along but just wanted to mess with us.  The bar turned into a madhouse.  Every time the Seahawks did something worthy of applause, they got more than applause from our bar, and likely every other bar and living room across the entire city -- they got screaming and fist pumping and crying and people leaping through the air.

The man at the table next to me, a large man wearing a Seahawks jersey with the name "FAN" written across the back, was suddenly my very close friend.  As we stared intently at the screen together, we clenched hands.  He dug his fingers into my arm on several occasions and yelled the "F" word.  Sometimes he kicked my leg under the table and it really hurt but I didn't blame him -- it was apparently his "tension release" leg so regularly shot out with no warning and caught me about the shins. 

When the Seahawks scored, "FAN" and I jumped into each others arms and screamed into each others ears.  He nearly knocked me over a few times, running me into a few tables which resulted in some really ugly side thigh bruises.  I didn't notice the pain because I was too busy high-fiving every goddamn person in the bar. 

I may not watch a lot of football but I can absolutely get behind an event that puts every single person in a bar on the same page, every person bonding with every other person because they're all fervently hoping for the same outcome.  I get it -- it's really really great to be a home team fan.

Seahawks were winning 28-27 at the end of the game, only twelve seconds left to go!  Everyone in the bar was on their feet, pulling their hair and screaming!!  We were gonna do it!!!

Then the Falcons kicked a field goal and it was over.  We lost.  The crowd packed up almost immediately and left the bar, quiet, dejected, heads down.  "FAN" didn't even say goodbye to me but I have my ugly leg bruises as a reminder of the love we briefly shared. 

(When I changed into my pajamas that night, Alex looked at my legs in horror and said,  "Oh my God, did they take the Seahawks fans out back and beat them after the game??")

Next season better

Al and I take the kids to swim lessons Saturday mornings.  They have lessons at the same time so Alex gets in the water with Coco and I sit by the side of the pool to watch Lucien.  Lucien is still more interested in entertaining his fellow swimmers than actually learning to swim.  It's fun to watch the instructor's confused face as Lucien tells him fart jokes while clinging to his torso for dear life.

Al is also still an entertainer.  He waved at me sitting at the edge of the pool and yelled, "Hey, MJ, watch this!" He then sat Coco upon a floating mat and pulled her around the pool.  She was delighted. 

Alex, caught up in the joy of a moment shared with his precious baby girl, swung the mat in one direction then inexplicably whipped it in the other direction, causing Coco to lose her balance and fly off the mat into the deep end of the pool.  Alex yelled, " SHITSHITSHIT" in the echoey family-friendly pool establishment and paddled/lunged to where Coco was flailing around in the water. 

Another parent sitting at the side of the pool grabbed my arm in horror and said, "He did NOT just do that!"  I confirmed that yes, he had, in fact, just done that and she said, "Oooh, I bet he's in trouble when y'all get home!"  She was reading my mind.

Alex, comforting a sputtering Coco and perhaps hoping NOT to be in trouble when we got home, called out cheerfully, "MJ, I bet she's not afraid to go underwater anymore!"  My reply was, "She's likely more afraid, Al.  You've probably set her fear of underwater back four years, which is hard to do because she's only three." 

Turns out Al's right.  Coco now puts her face in the water no problem.  She smiles afterward.  She's not afraid of swim lessons with Daddy anymore.

But I am.

No.  really.  trust him.

 
Goodbye, "FAN."  I'll never forget the times we shared,
MJ