Yesterday, the boys waited all afternoon, patiently at first, but, by 6:30, they were climbing out of their skin. We told them they had to eat dinner before we left, but then the oven broke (curses!), and we loaded them into the car and drove to the gym. It was time for “DIVE in MOVIE!”
The gym is also a hotel with a restaurant attached that, while rather bland, was at least convenient. The boys sat trembling in their seats, eating their All American hotel kid’s meal and loving it, but as soon as that last bite was ingested, they flew out of their seats, bolted down the hall and out to the pool.
There was a giant movie screen out on the deck, and all three pools were packed with screaming kids. Sleeping bags lined the ground, towels and inner tubes littered the patio, and there wasn’t an empty lounge chair in sight. Parents in sunglasses and swim wraps lazily barked out orders to their children while sipping frothy Piña Coladas. Brad took one look around and asked for permission to disappear – not his thing. I understood. I, however, found it amusing and plunked myself down by the side of the pool. The boys immediately jumped in and started treading water, weaving in and out among the big kids. The movie, referred to in our house as “Move it - Move it,” (Madagascar) started ten minutes later.
When popcorn was passed around, Zip climbed out of the water and into my lap, but Tizzy remained in the pool the whole ninety minutes. With blue lips trembling—treading, treading, head tipped back for air—he watched the movie, credit to credit, from his watery perch.
As the flick wrapped up, Brad reemerged in time to help me whisk the boys back to the locker rooms, into the showers and into pajama’s. Walking to the parking lot, Zip looked up at us and cried, “That was a great show!”