Hanging out in the deep end

Like most stories, I realized this was an actual story when replaying the events of a day to Loverpants at 1:30 a.m. as we tried to muffle our laughter in an effort to not to wake up the kids. So last week I invited several mama friends to come to the downtown pool with us. Which means that I went solo to the downtown pool because my mama friends have their kids in Organized Programming, whereas mine are involved in Netflix. We do love the downtown pool but it is a lot of work to schlepp downtown with all the pool gear. Oy to the vey.

The upside of going solo is that if my kids are acting the fool, I'm an audience of one and the rest of the folks at the downtown pool are strangers.

The downside of going solo is if I need to change my tampon. Then I have an audience of two in a bathroom stall that smells like chlorine and fungus and the floor is wet with fluids of unimaginable combinations.

This story is not about tampons, however. Sorry for those we've already lost.

[showmyads]

This story is about the deep end at the downtown pool. In the deep end are two very impressive inflatable structures that float on the water. The first structure is a truly impressive jungle gym. It reminds me a bit of the obstacle course from the Nickelodeon game show Double Dare that was popular in the late '80s. Remember the whipped cream pit at the end of the slide? What's that? You weren't even alive in the '80s? Kay. Bye.

Anyway, the jungle gym requires that swimmers be of a certain height. Baby Girl measured herself last week and she was shy of the mark by a good three inches. This week, however, she was determined that she had grown. We did back to the wall and it appears the growth spurt was less than astronomical because she still appeared to be 3 inches shy of the mark.

"But, Mama, maybe just check to see if Little Man is tall enough. Because Daddy said his head is bigger than mine."

After measuring Little Man, it appears that his remarkable noggin did not, in fact, clear him for the jungle gym eligibility after all.

The second structure on the water is a giant inflatable pyramid. One one side, stairs. On the other, a slide. Boss, right?

I asked the kids if they wanted to see their mama climb the pyramid and slide down the slide. They flipped for the idea. As we passed the lifeguard, who looked EXACTLY like Spicoli, leans off his chair and looks at me and says, "You know they can go on this one."

Which to me means, your kids can go scale this pyramid thing even though they can barely find their own mouths with a fork somedays.

So I said, Okay, thanks!

And then I had my kids stand next to Spicoli's chair while I waited in line for my rightful turn to scale the pyramid.

Just as I am about to get my turn to dive into the water, Spicoli dismounts his chair and a new lifeguard takes over. So now both lifeguards are looking at me and I dive in.

But somewhere between the moment my feet leave the edge of the pool and when my head comes up in the water for air, both lifeguards are yelling NOOOOWAAAAYYWHAAARRRYOUUUDOOOWAAIATWEEESAIIDWHAAA!!!!!!!!!!!

I still have no idea what they're saying so I tread water in the deep end and look puzzled, while my kids look on from the sides thinking, Wow. Is Mom kind of a loser right now, or?

Finally the new lifeguard says, "Ma'am, have you taken the swim test?"

Hmm. Swim test. I have to think for a moment. Let's see. Ohio driver's license test. Check. SAT. LSAT. GRE. Check, check, check. Exam to sell life insurance in Massachusetts. Exam to broker stocks in United States. Pregnancy Test. All those? Check check check.

But the swim test at the downtown pool? No! Hahah! Imagine? Somehow I missed that! Here I am in my twirties, fully capable of swimming the front crawl against heavy ocean waves and aren't I conceited to think that I didn't have to take a test for the deep end of a municipal pool.

At this point, the new lifeguard says, "Sorry, if you want to hang out in the deep end without a life jacket, you've got to go see the lifeguard standing by the kiddie pool and she'll get you all tested."

Hang out in the deep end? OH YEAH! That is my jam! I am totally wanting to hang out here in the deep end like an ant at a picnic. Oh, but thing is, see, I have these children with me, the ones standing next to you in life jackets? And all they wanted to do was see their mom slide down this water slide and cheer for joy.

But instead, I am swimming with my tail between my legs to go meet my kids.

Spicoli, ever the comforter, leans over and says, "Sorry, Ma'am, I thought you were just standing in line with your kid. Haha."

So I told him to go back to eating his pizza and learning about Cuba.

Not really.

But I was so huffy about not getting to slide down the pyramid that I didn't even take the swim test.

Proving to my children that some of us are just too cool for safety.

So cool, in fact, that we end up spending the rest of the day in the kiddie pool. So there! Take that!

Review: Breakfast at Milk & Honey #CHA

I am no newbie to the NoSho's newbie neighbor Milk & Honey. It is possible that I am so addicted to the mid-century modern atmosphere of M&H that one might mistake me for an actual NoSho neighbor. I am there at least weekly. At least. Oh gosh, I practically asked for an application the last time I was there so I could get paid to hang. But I do not actually live very close to the Northshore at all. Sadpants for so many reasons. Probably best since I am no longer in high school and won't work for $7.50 an hour or whatever the ice creamerias are paying the kids these days. Anyway. We treated my husband, the father of my children, to a Father's Day breakie at Milk & Honey. I wasn't expecting anything crazy because the menu options did not appear to be vast or wildly innovative. I was just hoping for some Sunday morning counter time, some sunny warmth on our shoulders and good food in front of us, and some cute neighborhood puppies at our feet.

How often do we get EXACTLY what we want?

The breakfast was as affordable as it was delightful. The lox and bagels were just the thing. The bagel had a nice hardy crust (do bagels have crusts?) and was dense enough to support a really honest couplet of lox, cream cheese, capers, herbs. Fresh fruit on the side. $7 says lovely.

My kids split the french toast--three very large pieces of challah sprinkled with powdered sugar, with syrup on the side. The portion was more than enough for my chipmunks. Very nicely cooked.

I want to give you a tip here and it's going to be quick so don't miss it. Iced Coconut Latte. Did you catch that? I will repeat it just once more. Iced Coconut Latte. You're welcome.

Milk & Honey is a place for scenesters and dog-walkers and everyone in between. Expect a line and expect to sit tight with strangers. I've also noticed, however, that at any hour of the day (see also: addict) if you wait ten minutes, the line is sure to die down. So don't let the crowd you see at first keep you from stopping for breakie. Pet somebody's dog, memorize the gelato flavors, and soon you'll be at the front of the line.

Service this past Sunday was friendly as always (those kids are so patient and cheerful) and a little uneven. I usually find that the flow behind the counter is so scattered (I think they might be busy swatting the honeybees?) that they usually get at least one small thing wrong. But they are always lovely about it and make haste to make it right. Small instead of Large coffee is still first world problems here, though, no great shakes. Everyone left happy, full and caffeinated, smelling of milk and honey.

Do you cook Korean for your husband?

This is not my favorite question, the question of whether or not I cook Korean cuisine for my husband. After we were married, it was the #1 question asked of me as a new bridey mchousewife. No ethnicity, sex, gender, age was exempt among the askers of this particular interrogative. Do you cook Korean for your husband, asked the well-meaning people who were probably sincerely interested to know how my backyard burial of the fermented cabbage was going. Seriously, though. Oh. My. Kimchee. Did that question get old.

For starters, the obvious. Much as my beautiful black hair and almond shaped eyes and ivory skin betray me--you know I'm not the Korean one in this equation, right? Why would you not ask Loverpants if he cooks Korean for his Irish-Italian wife?

For seconds, really? That's what you ask a woman in the year 2000 and something? What kind of a short order cook for her man is she? I mean, women can vote and earn a PhD and buy stock but the first question out of the gate is what she's got on the stovetop these days?

For thirds, what if I --perish the thought--DON'T cook Korean food for Loverpants. What if I chef up every manner of Asian delicacy but Korean is just not in the repertoire OH SWEET MOTHER WHAT THEN!?!

Of course, the above responses were not seasoned with salt. Nary would they pass through my lips. Lord, have mercy on Thy servant and her fallen thoughts.

Still. Couldn't help but get annoyed from time to time....

*** Last night I stood in front of the stovetop stirring quinoa, excited to put it and some veggie medley into egg roll wraps and fry them up real nice and Korean mama like.

The plate was piled high with my clumsily filled egg roll invention.

I started to fry and samples one and two were perfect! Brought all the kids to the yard.

And then after the third one, they all started to unravel. Droplets of fry grease spattered the air and my arms and OW WHAHHH WHYYYYYY??

I asked my Korean mister where was the fault line in my egg roll construction?

He said, graciously, it was possibly the fact that I had stuffed my egg rolls like they were burritos. Or cannoli. Might be why they are busting at the seams.

So, not willing to pay my full penance for Not Cooking Korean for My Husband all these years, I did what every good ethnically Western European gal would do.

I took that quinoa egg roll smattering, threw it in a pyrex dish, topped it with swiss cheese, baked it at 375 for an hour and made quinoa egg roll lasagna casserole thing.

And it was good. Even my Korean husband said so.