“Just jump in.” That’s my husband’s philosophy on the best way to acclimate one’s self to cold pool water. I’m the annoying one who parks herself on the ladder dipping in one toe, then two and slowly creeping in one inch every few minutes. I do prefer this. It helps me prepare for what’s to come. I feel more at ease.
When it came to hosting a sleepover – a first big slumber party actually – for our daughter, I decided my well-planned efforts of slowly adjusting to my new environment would work in this scenario, too. I had an agenda, a schedule, a very well thought out plan. Yes, I knew there could be chaos, but I would be prepared, my plan would put me at ease. There would be swimming and pizza, movies and popcorn. That would be plenty to keep them occupied and satisfied….happy even.
Informal invitations went out and after a few agonizing days and then a couple early “no” replies, we thought we would be nursing a certain 6-year-old’s damaged self esteem. However, we ended up with six girls – armed with PJs, pillows, suits and towels – on our doorstep one recent Friday evening.
After the first two arrived, it occurred to me that while we had enough frozen pizzas to hold a block party, there was no dessert. No self-respecting mom withholds sugar at a slumber party, so I sent my husband out with a list: ice cream, sprinkles, strawberry syrup, whip cream. My plan already crumbling, I was still determined this could be a slumber party that all kindergarten slumber parties would be compared to…it would be the measuring stick. My husband, the rational one, wanted to know why I would make the party so inviting that they’d all expect to come back. Duh! It’s obvious he’s never been a 6-year-old girl!
The girls hit the pool first, jumping and splashing, kicking and diving. Naturally, I shot photos since it would take me too long to get into the pool, and my husband kept the peace in the pool. We took a break for pizza, and they naturally wanted to go back in the pool right away. But the “lifeguard” needed to eat (I think he wanted a break), so they were stuck playing in the backyard with our two battery-powered Jeeps and the play set. After a few minutes (literally), one of the girls came up and asked, “When are we going to do the fun stuff?”
Excuse me? What? Did I go to the wrong party? Was I in someone else’s back yard? I mean…pizza, swimming, swings, slides, motorized Jeeps. I didn’t even tell them I had planned to set up a sundae bar or that afterwards we would watch a movie and munch on popcorn. And yet, it wasn’t entertaining enough. The other girls chimed in with agreement. All the evidence I ever needed that children are irrational beings who cannot be completely satisfied was standing right in front of me, all 50 pounds of it, wet with chlorinated water and sticky with pizza sauce.
After more swimming, I set up for sundaes. There were two kinds of sprinkles, hot fudge, caramel, strawberry sauce and whip cream. I even got out fancy tall glasses to build their sundaes in. They loved it; they really did, but the complaining ensued after the last one finished making her culinary creation. Someone had more sprinkles; one didn’t get enough whip cream. By the time I was done running around trying to meet needs, I headed for the sticky, sprinkle-covered kitchen table to wipe it off. But I was cut off by a plea to end the boredom. OK, better get this movie going and pronto. It seemed I could not move fast enough to keep everyone happy.
I enjoyed a few minutes of peace when one became thirsty and then another and another. There was a need for more popcorn and did I have any candy. I suddenly wondered how kindergarten teachers maintain any amount of sanity. What was definitely clear was that I had not been able slowly acclimate myself to this slumber party. No amount of mental or physical preparation helped me avoid the inevitable. You know it’s true, every time you try to adjust to icy pool water slowly, you’re in full concentration when you’re unexpectedly splashed by child who’s plotting your doom and strikes maliciously just as the water reaches that mid-torso point that makes your face scrunch into a wrinkled ball.
Yes, my husband’s philosophy definitely applies. Not just to acclimating to the water temperature, but also to acclimating to the child’s temperament. Yes, they are greedy and demanding. They require immediate satisfaction; they are keenly aware when they are treated unjustly (“She got more ice cream,” spoken in more of a squeaky whine than a comprehensive voice.) And when you think you can prepare yourself in a way that will circumvent this, you are slapped in the face with reality. Kids will be kids, and while it’s hard to comprehend that they’re enjoying themselves through all the complaining, they really are. The one who complained the most will probably talk incessantly about the party for days. And if you decide instead to jump right in, you’re bound to have fun, too. Just be prepared to need a nap the next day.
