So today I had a rare and awesome day off with the husband and kids.
Kid#1 is especially keen of visits to the swimming pool. Unfortunately, as I spent many of his formative years as a lycra-fearing chubster I have not let him visit the pool as much as he should. But now that I’m well on my way to fox-hood, he’s enrolled in swimming lessons and we thought a Sunday morning would be a great time to take the ‘la famile’ to the pool to practice his new skills and have some fun.
Except parked at the front of the pool is one of my ridiculously branded, previous company cars. One of the partners is at the pool. The cars are blatant and garish, but freakin’ handy for spotting people from a distance.
My darling husband quietly suggests we do our afternoon trip to the hardware store first. The carpark looks full.
After the hardware store, we head back. The f*&^ing car is still there. Pig’s Arse, I say. Let’s do it.
We got in. The kids, the husband and I are all playing in the pool. I’m delighted in my boys beaming smiles, the near-genius level at which kid#1 can blow bubbles and open his eyes underwater and the fact my husband is hot-as-hell in swimming shorts that I barely notice the simpering grimace and terse nod from my former partner as she hauls her child from the pool as she spots us.
It’s a lightbulb moment. I really don’t give a fuck. My family ROCKS. And that’s worth more than anything and anyone else in the world. Swim on.