Wet

Say, do you guys remember when I got my new phone? There were zombies and everything, and it wasn't so long ago. I was terrified of it, as you might remember, but it's pretty easy to use and I have gotten sort of fond of it. I like taking pictures and sending them on the spot, texting all my friends, and reading my email at the grocery store. I have even grown to like the purple and white bird cover, and not just because it repels the zombies. I have resisted facebooking at stop lights, though, unlike some people I could mention.

Have I mentioned that we have the boys back in swimming lessons? I rooted around for a while on here and SFK looking for posts I may have written about swimming lessons before, but I couldn't find any, so I may have been too traumatized. We have tried multiple times before with less than stellar results. First at Osan, where the instructor tried to get Weston, who is timid in the water, to get his head wet by mockingly comparing him unfavorably to a girl. Then at a place around here, where the instructor let the un-buoyed and untrustworthy two year old Shane propel himself around the edge of the pool with her back turned until he went under and Lloyd had to fish him out by his hair.

This time didn't start out too promisingly, either, because the teacher forced Weston's head underwater when he wasn't expecting it. Who thinks that's a good idea? I would be so furious if someone did that to me but because he's just a kid it's okay to terrorize him? Anyway, he was willing to go back if he didn't have to have his head underwater unless he wanted to, so we talked to the teacher and she agreed. Actually, Lloyd had to threaten her, I think. He still won't tell me what he said to her, but whatever it was worked, and the lessons have been going fine for several weeks now.

So, tonight, we were at the pool. I was minding my own business, daydreaming about the tropics in the moist warm air, when the teacher told Shane for about the sixteenth time to hang on to the edge of the pool while she wasn't looking instead of paddling around. Sensible, because he can't swim, of course. I walked over to the edge and bent over to remind him that at swimming lessons we listen to Miss Denice and do what she says or else we can't come back to the pool. When I did, my new phone slipped out of my shirt pocket, bounced on the concrete and slipped through my grasping hands straight into the pool. Right now it is resting peacefully in a bowl of rice, and I am sucking down the wine to soothe the withdrawal pains. And, I had to bust the rice out of the emergency kit. But, dude, if that's not an emergency, I don't know what is.

Geez, I hate swimming lessons.