When I got home from the pool this morning, The Rock Star was snuggled deep into the covers on my side of the bed. Unfortunately, when I open the garage door to leave, it often wakes up at least one of the children. Usually I come home to find that my oldest is no longer in his bed. Once he was sitting in silence on the couch. If you think that didn't kind of creep the heck out of me, you'd be wrong. Typically, he's nuzzled up to his daddy. When I walked in the door, I immediately heard the squeals coming from the boys' bedroom. Matthew was wide awake and laughing hysterically at something. I went in to get him and take him to the bathroom.
I was wearing a wet bathing suit, my old team parka, knock-off Uggs, and a towel around my waist. My soaking wet ponytail was a pretty dead giveaway of where I'd been. I smelled like chlorine for ten straight years of my life but nothing (NOTHING!) compares to the bleachy stench of an indoor pool. Even I can hardly handle the scent and I'm fairly certain the chemical singed most of my nose hairs ages ago leaving me practically immune. Practically, but not entirely. When I get home from a morning of laps, I stink. At least it's a squeaky clean kind of smell. If we're looking for bright sides. If we're the kind of people who need silver linings.
Before Matthew climbed up onto the potty, he leaned in, took a big whiff of me, and wrinkled up his nose. He furrowed his little brow, cocked his head to the side, and declared, "You smell like water!"
This made me laugh because if my water came out of the tap smelling like I did this morning, I wouldn't touch it with someone else's tongue. If the ocean smelled like me, all the sea life would be floating belly up. "I smell like water?" I questioned. "I think I smell like chlorine."
He considered this for a moment and then corrected me. "No. You smell like water."
I've showered and applied large amounts of lotion. Yet, I still smell like water. Chlorinated, indoor, pool water. Gotta love smelling like a freshly cleaned bathroom.