Monday, 27 July 2015

Amateur dramatics at the pool

Dear Mum,

The holiday is wonderful: blue skies, sunshine and warmth. We all miss Fizz and hope she's behaving. The boys have requested that we arrange for her to have a dog passport, so she can come away with us next year. I daresay, given the option, that she would refuse to join us preferring to head to you and Dad in Norfolk and wreak havoc with two partners in crime!

Yesterday was slightly more eventful than one would desire whilst on holiday. Oliver took up the mantle and continued with the ongoing quest of the small folk in our house (this is clearly a challenge that neither boy feels has been fully met) to give their Mum a complete head of grey hairs. The 'performance' was enacted at the pool. We met up with some friends and all the children went off to play and swim in the kids pool. Being conscientious parents we all positioned ourselves in direct sight of the pool to keep an eye on proceedings.

Once a table in an appropriate spot had been acquired, I had to move bags, towels and clothes into a moderately coherent heap. After doing so I looked up to check on the boys, immediately spotting William charging through the water brandishing his arms like a wild things and shrieking with laughter, but where was Ollie? All I saw was a lifeless, floppy, apparently unresponsive Oliver being dragged through the water by two of his friends. In a split second the following thoughts flashed through my mind:
  1. I only took my eye off them for a minute how could this have happened?
  2. Where's my husband?
  3. Surely it's just a game, he'll move in moment.
  4. How fast can I cover 25-30 metres in flip-flops and a sarong?
Needless to say the last point was addressed immediately and very quickly is the answer (all my jumping rope and hill sprints have paid off it seems). Joking aside, I got to the pool and lifted him out the water, the two girls with him looking more than a little startled by the sudden arrival of a more than mildly maniacal mother, and much to my increasing horror he didn't respond!! Seriously, it felt like forever, but it was probably only a second or two. I have no idea what I said to him, but as I was contemplating CPR he moved, looked up at me and said, 'Mummy, what's wrong, we're just playing and I'm dying and about to be saved'.

As you can imagine, the whole experience had tested my composure somewhat and he was rather severely reprimanded and made to promise to never, ever, think about playing a game of this nature again...... Returning to my friends and Chris I attempted to employ some mindful breathing, when really I needed something stronger to steady my rather frayed nerves.

In hindsight, apart from the awful dreams I had that night, I was actually rather impressed by Ollie's commitment to his 'craft'. He was so immersed in his role, taking it so seriously, that I'm sure this explains his lack of response when I hoisted him out of the water... is the stage beckoning??

All my love,
Kath xx

PS I'm so glad I ignore the moans and tow them swimming each week and, yes, it seems I have gained additional grey hairs. Not sure whether wheatgrass or acai will help me recoup the years I lost in those few, adrenaline-fuelled seconds!