With A Song

There are worse ways to wake up.

Let's go back a little. Yesterday, we went to the gym for a swim. While T and Bird played in the family pool - corkscrew water slide, floating beasts to clamber onto and slither down from, a post and tube contraption that makes curtains of falling water, and two large squirt canons - I swam laps.

Slowly.

There's a reason they call it the "crawl".

I had to alternate strokes, because I'm not fit enough to do lap after lap with one style - my arms won't take it, yet. I managed fifteen laps all told, mostly in a row. Mostly. I did take a few (a hundred is a few, right?) treading-water breaks.

J joined me twelve laps in, so I did a few more with him, then we all adjourned to the open half of the pool for a rousing game of water volleyball.

Two hours in the water. We all smelled of chlorine and looked like prunes when we got out, but it was a fine afternoon.

I fell asleep when we got home - not enough sleep ( and that poor quality) for weeks plus a long swim equals one tired me.

T cooked dinner, bless his heart - luckily we had a can of Manwich in the cupboard. Hush. It's good to have something on hand that the menfolk can cook (and are willing to eat), besides hot dogs or tinned ravioli. We all went to bed early, worn slap out.

This morning, Bird woke up fist, and rather than run in and wake us, he wandered into the living room and began to play with his cars. He has many. He was racing them around the floor, singing.

That's what I woke up to - singing. He was singing Real Gone from the movie Cars. Oh, yeah. I'm such a proud mama - my son sings redneck, country songs for fun! It's not quite Honkytonk Badonkadonk, which was his preferred when he was three, but it's still funny to hear him - especially when he doesn't quite know all the words, so he wings it.

Yep, worse ways to wake up than with a song.