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My Sentiments Exactly
Immediately upon sitting down, I dumped the extra-large cup of coffee I'd gingerly transported in the car on the one-and-a-half hour drive up to Kyle's swim meet last Saturday.
As soon as I plopped down in my chair back -- BAM! My beloved Dunkin' Donuts coffee with sugar-free peppermint mocha creamer did the same, splashing all over my purse, knapsack and shoes, and spilling down the bleachers before me like a light brown rainfall.
Dang it!
I’d been so careful in transit from house to car -- not to mention across the puddle-riddled gravel parking lot (yeah, it’s a gorgeous state-of-the-art sporting complex but apparently, they ran out of money before blacktop paving could begin); then up the two flights of stairs and thrice around the Olympic-size pool in an effort to find the right seating placement for optimal viewing of the boy doing his thing.
Sigh.
I ought to have known right then and there that the whole day would follow suit, morphing into a similarly wet, sloppy and sticky hot mess.
First it was the verbal boxing match with my husband, who refused to believe that I could actually select the correct vantage point. "Are you sure we’re on the right side?" he said, though it was clear he was convinced I had chosen incorrectly.
And, even though we’d arrived more than an hour before the meet was set to start, Kerry declared that we needed to move with approximately eight seconds to go before the first event went off.
As I tried to grab my bags, the remnants of my java and my smart phone and tablet to follow the dust wake he kicked up in his sudden sprint to the other side of the venue, I heard a friendly voice call out, "Hey, Patty, where ya goin'?" I smiled at the fellow Swim Mom, explaining that I must've misunderstood in which pool the Open Boys event was being held. The meet was being run simultaneously in two opposing pools, FYI. I selected the shallow-end option on the advice of the entryway volunteers.
"No, you're right -- you better sit down before you lose your seats …" she smiled, even offering to chase down Kerry and tell him where to go … er, I mean, where to sit.
As we squished back into our seats, which were now the only two open spots in the entire, over-crowded place, and I waited for the apology that never arrived … the meet finally began.
With a thud.
Not sooner did I survive the trek across the parking lot of death and the sparring session with my hubby then I had to endure the scene of our swimmers squaring off against Paul Bunyan, Aqua Man and Poseidon himself.
For those who may not be familiar with an "open" swim competition; this means there’s no age limit. Therefore, teenagers go up against 35 year-olds who have full beards, 29 years of competitive swim experience, wives, kids and mortgages.
Ugh.
I was still super optimistic, though. Except when the timing clocks suddenly stopped working.
Hmm.
And then the main scoreboard, too, which was showing my kid's lightning fast 50-meter Freestyle swim time as … 1:27:28.
Only about a minute and five seconds-plus slower than his actual time. Which, in swim language is like, four years.
#whatthecrap
Did I mention the venue's Wi-Fi signal suddenly shut down, as well? For those of us searching in vain for accurate times for our children online, that option was suddenly just as kerpluey as the official scoreboard and wall timer clocks.
In fact, my new friend Kathy who was seated beside me, had to get her results for her own son via texts from her daughter in Germany, who was able to download them faster from Western Europe than we could from our poolside seats.
Nice.
As if that wasn't bad enough; the starting buzzer also bit the dust.
The timers on the pool deck were visibly shaken and urged the kids on the blocks to "just listen close" to know when to enter the water, which about 80 percent of them did late. In every heat. In every event. All morning long.
Awesome.
And, as my hair swelled to the circumference of the Super Moon in the humid natatorium and snow dumped outside a mere 20 hours our anomaly 75-degree Friday, I watched in amazement as my kid stayed focus and positive.
#composed
I suppose it could have been much worse. It's not like I had as rough a time at the meet as Mike Pence did attending "Hamilton" on Broadway.
Sheesh.
Know what? Despite all the snafus, guffaws and plain old kooky stuff that happened that day; it hit me that I was in my happy place -- cheering on my angel as he competed in the sport he absolutely loves next to my beloved if not grumpy soul mate.
I am so blessed … and absolutely cannot wait for my honey's next swim meet. Go, Kyle!
Kimerer is a Tribune Chronicle columnist with really big hair and a ton of love for her super swimmer son. Contact her via www.patriciakimerer.com.