Stressful Swimming

I’ve taken the three boys swimming this morning; not on my own, of course, that would be utter madness.  My friend also went who has two older children so that we could watch my two little ones between us and boy, was it stressful!

The swimming bit was fine, splash splash, go on the slide, jump in, go on the floats, get carried along by the wave machine – all good fun, no problem.

Getting three children changed in a changing room that’s not big enough to even hold a cat aloft, never mind swing it – not so easy.  It went a bit like this:

‘Josh, don’t stand on the bag!’.  ‘Max, don’t you open that door, Mummy’s got no clothes on.’  ‘Zach, don’t sit on the wet floor in your clothes, you’ll get soaked.’  ‘Josh, just get yourself undressed please and stop pulling everything out of the bag.’  ‘Max, step out of your trousers and STOP banging your head on the wall!’.  ‘Zach, you don’t need your towel yet, let mummy take your nappy off.’  ‘Josh, please don’t blow the armbands up yet, there’s not enough room as it it.’  ‘Max, will you stop playing with your willy and just step into your swimming shorts?’  ‘Zach, STOP OPENING THAT DOOR!  MUMMY’S STILL GOT NO CLOTHES ON!’

Putting stuff in the locker:

‘Max, please don’t run, you’ll slip!’  ‘Zach, come here while mummy puts the stuff in the locker.’  ‘Josh, please will you bring the bag here and stop staring at people?’  ‘Zach, COME HERE!!’  (Whilst pinning Zach with one knee against the locker), ‘Josh, come out of the way, please, whilst I get the bag in.  No, the fifty pence doesn’t need to go in yet.  Josh, PLEASE will you listen to me, THE FIFTY PENCE DOESN’T NEED TO GO IN YET!’  ‘Zach, KEEP YOUR ARMBANDS ON!’  ‘Max, stop crying and GET UP OFF THE FLOOR!’

Next, imagine Crocodile Dundee wrestling with the crocodile that’s trying to eat him and you’ll get a vague idea of what I looked like, trying to stuff a bag the size of a small suitcase, four coats, a handbag and a pair of boots into one medium sized locker.  Needless to say I was sweating, swearing and red faced before I even got in the water.

After an hour or so in the pool without incident, it was time to get changed…this time with three children that were also wet, tired and hungry.

Picture more of the above, in addition to balancing a toddler on the practically inch wide seat to put his nappy on; my three year old crying and shivering dramatically because he was ‘freezing’; our seven year old choosing this moment to make a tent out of his towel, crouching down and putting it over his head whilst elbowing everyone out of the way and stepping on everyone’s stuff…and pulling trousers up damp, unyielding legs (the equivalent of trying to shoe horn them into wetsuits).

Finally, whilst trying to pack the stuff to make some room to dress myself, I took the youngest’s towel off him.  Cue a super duper, lung bursting, ear piercing screaming tantrum, interspersed with him trying to bite his brothers.

Meanwhile, I hopped on one leg, wearing just my knickers, standing on armbands, a wet swimming nappy and the odd child whilst trying to drag my jeans on when – yep, you guessed it – our three year old opened the door 🙂




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