Dave and I are in Hawaii this week pre-celebrating our ten year anniversary. You know, beautifully warm and sunny Hawaii? “Pre” scheduled as a great escape from the Portland winter rain. But when our plane landed in Kona yesterday, it was raining buckets. Sideways. According to the forecast, it was supposed to clear up today by noon. But as I sit poolside in my cargo pants and sweater, I’m quite certain the sun is not going to shine today. Maybe tomorrow. Definitely by the time we leave on Friday*.
I bought my first two-piece suit in a long time to wear while we’re here. Not only for the more obvious reasons one might assume, but because I learned the hard way that two-piece suits are not to be worn until your kids can swim on their own. Very well.
It was Labor Day 2012. After solid participation in swim lessons, Abe was an average swimmer. He could tread water – or at least not sink to the bottom like an anchor. The twins were not treaders or floaters for that matter (they were 2, after all), but that’s okay because they never ventured past the very shallow end of our gym pool. Dave and I decided to take the kids that day and sit close-by poolside (i.e. stay out of the water). It wasn’t the warmest of days and we were hoping for a quick in-and-out.
I was wearing my two-piece suit and strapless coverup. Abe was jumping off the side of the pool in the deep end and the twins were happily splashing each other in the shallow end of the pool. All was fun and well. Things changed quickly. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Gus tip-toeing, double-count toward the deep end of the pool. I began screaming his name and swinging my arms wildly, drawing a large amount of attention to myself. Everyone noticed. Except Gus. Which is kind of crazy because that Dirty has disproportionately large ears for the size of his tiny melon and frame. Anyway, he continued walking down the gradual slope of the pool until he was no longer touching bottom and then began sinking.
There was a lifeguard on duty; however, she seemed (or pretended) to know I was going in after him as soon as I pulled down my cover-up. In an act of haste and hysteria, I roughly grabbed the top of my cover-up. The idea was to quickly slip out of it – as it would only take a couple of seconds**. It went down smoothly over the bikini top. But as I was pulling it over the bikini bottom, I accidentally grabbed the waistband and my panties came down as well. Poolside. Labor Day Weekend. My fro down low out there for the whole world to see (or at least everyone at the Bethany Athletic Club pool).
By the time I got my bottoms pulled up and jumped in the pool to save Gus, Abe was already dragging him toward the shallow end. Think Hasselhoff. And I don’t mean the burger-eating YouTube version. Thanks to Abe’s awareness, Gus obviously survived. No extraordinary measures required. When I asked Dave if he saw my bare crotch, he simply responded, “I was too busy watching our drowning son!” But I didn’t see Dave jumping in to save him. Or Lazy the Lifeguard who couldn’t see past her posse of smooth-skinned, teenage boy toys.
So if and when the sun does come out in Hawaii. And I’m lounging in my bikini poolside. And a rogue child happens to fall, flop, or float my way. You can bet your pants I will not be the one jumping in to save him.
* I am in Hawaii. That incredible fact is not lost on me. We feel wonderfully blessed and very thankful to be here – rain or shine – and have made the most of every minute on the island.
*In hindsight, sitting poolside was a poor decision. And removing my cover-up before jumping in to save Gus was an exceptionally poor decision. No judgement.