Everyone Can Touch Our Noodle

Vacation day three. Or is it four? Whatevs.

The kids have been mostly great but the fancy-pants pool club has me kinda stressed out. I am doing that awesome whisper/scream (the kind that implies you are calm yet stern) with a rapid fire list of demands kids hate: no running, don't drink the pool water, don't blow your nose in the pool, your dolphin noises are wonderful but could you please make them quieter, pull up your pants BEFORE you leave the bathroom, no more fart jokes, no more throwing flip flops at your brother.

Ah, the brother. The Giant Four Year Old is like a soaking wet bull in an elitist country club shop. His favorite holler in the pool, despite my nearly constant protests (for obvious reasons) is "help me I can't breathe I'm dying" about which I have now twice said to concerned onlookers, "he's ok, he just has an active imagination."

Mostly he just monitors the use of our pool toys. Should any poor kid dare touch our prescious crap, he alerts them (and everyone else in ear shot) that THOSE ARE OURS! And so I find myself in the awkward position of whisper-screaming unfortunate statements like the one referenced in the title. Because in case these strangers don't know, we are nothing if not good sharers.