Have you ever felt vindicated? Yes, I know God says vengeance belongs to Him. And truthfully, I seldom seek revenge. Yes, I might, on occasion leave certain lacy supportive garments on the bathroom doorknob, and maybe that’s a subconscious payback for all the socks my husband leaves on the floor. But, on the whole, I don’t tailgate people who cut me off, or leave poor tips for lousy service. I leave vengeance to Someone better suited for it.
But this week, I confess to enjoying a sublime moment of vindication not of my own doing.
Monkey and Chunky started swim lessons on Monday. Monkey loves water. He’s a second generation Monkeyfish. Put that kid in water and he’s as happy, as, well, a clam.
His class consisted of four or five young swimmers just confident enough to cause trouble. On Tuesday, I noticed the whole class was riled up. At one point the instructor sat them all on the edge of the pool and laid down the law. Bravo, I thought. He’s in control of his class.
I returned my attention to the book I was reading only to be interrupted moments later. Another mom came over to inform me that my son was “torture splashing” the other kids.
Really. Torture splashing? Isn’t that a bit of an overstatement? I’ll be the first to admit that Monkey enjoys a splash war as much as the next seven-year-old. But it’s not like the kid is waterboarding his classmates.
I should have smiled and told the mom that I would watch my son more closely and intervene if necessary. Instead, I went to the side of the pool, crouched down, and chewed out my bewildered child.
Yeah. Bad Mommy Award for me.
Later that evening, I explained to Monkey that some kids are more sensitive to splashing than others, that he was not the only one at fault in the class, and he should just give that particular kid a wide berth.
He understood and continued his lessons with only minor splashing and acceptable cavorting.
But, today, my moment to smile came. See, I’ve been bouncing back and forth between the large pool, where Monkey has lessons, and the small pool, where Chunky has lessons.
More than once, I giggled about the class one level below Chunky’s. Taught by a tough-guy lifeguard, the class consisted of six adorable little girls. Too tiny to be in the water alone, they’d all sit in their frilly Disney Princess swimsuits on the edge of the pool, while Buff Guy showed them the very basics.
Today, after their lesson, Buff Guy lined them up on the wall and sang “Six Little Monkeys Sitting in a Tree.” Every time the “alligator” snapped, one little girl jumped into the waiting beefy arms of the instructor. Yeah, almost too cute to be legal.
Except one itty bitty princess should have been wearing a swim pull-up. She pranced. She danced. She squealed. She peed.
Buff Guy immediately enlisted the help of another nearby, very reluctant, lifeguard, who whisked the Peeing Princess off to the restrooms for probably no reason at all considering she was, by then, done.
I, and the other parents, looked around for the unfortunate mother of the pool-christening toddler. Who should come hurrying over but the mom who’d accused Monkey of violating The Geneva Convention.
Yes, I smiled, which was maybe not so Christian of me. But I did not go tap her on the shoulder and say, “Excuse me, your child is using biological warfare against my child.”
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