5:30 pm: I leave work with plenty of time to get home so we can all ride to Kyle's first swim lesson together.
6:09: It's balls hot outside, here let me show you this picture I took of my temperature gauge while I sat in traffic. (That says 117 degrees. I do not live on the sun.)
6:27: As I turn onto my street, I realize we're out of swim diapers. Which makes SWIM lessons problematic.
6:28: "BABE, I'LL MEET YOU AT THE POOL, MUST GET SWIM DIAPERS," "Uh, okay."
6:30: Zip into Walgreens. Choose the only swim diapers they have, which are both stupid and expensive.
6:31: Get stuck behind a lady who decides Monday, August 2nd will be the day she forgets how to use her debit card. Of course.
6:35: Still made awesome time, so "BABE, NEVERMIND. MEET YOU AT HOME." "Uh, okay."
6:40: Zoom into the house, sweating (see above picture), change out of my jeans into a very breathable skirt, snuggle Kyle for .5 seconds because WE MUST GO, EVERYONE IN THE CAR.
6:45: Pull out of our driveway. Bitch the entire half mile to the pool about how hot it is.
6:50: Park, start walking toward the pool when Mike says, "You grabbed the towel on the couch, right?" "Uh, no." "Why not?" "I didn't see it!" "It was right there!" "Well, if I had seen it, do you think I would have decided not to bring it to SWIM LESSONS?"
6:53: I get back in the car to go retrieve the towel.
6:55: To his defense, it was right there on the couch.
6:59: I MADE IT! I AM NOT A BAD MOTHER!
7:00: Swim lessons did not start on time, I'd like it noted.
7:03: In the pool. Kyle's in heaven.
7:10: I've taken 50 pictures, have 15 mosquito bites, and have watched the very sweet, very enthusiastic teenage instructor try to coax my 18-month-old into repeating the "no running around the pool" rule to her. Yeah, lady, that's not gonna happen.
7:15: Pride oozes out of me as my 18-month-old climbs out of the pool by himself, the correct way. (One elbow, the other elbow, one leg, the other leg.)
7:17: No, really, he cannot repeat pool rules, lady. STOP TRYING.
7:20: First and only meltdown. Thankfully there's a rogue four-year-old who's wandered over to our class and is LOSING HIS MIND because he cannot climb the slide. It's drowning out my kid whining because he does not want to blow any more bubbles.
7:30: Class is over. I mentally imagine introducing myself to all the other parents so I can add more "friends with kids near Kyle's age" to my circle, but I chicken out and just smile instead. (There are another two weeks left of class. Plenty of time to muster the courage.)
7:31: I tell Kyle how good he was in class, and he claps for himself for the next 15 minutes.
7:32: We can't remember where we parked. Mike tries to convince me we now have a navy blue Jeep instead of a black one.
7:33: Mike is wrong.
7:35: Sweet, sweet air conditioning.