Joey's disappointment

I was actually planning on having a quiet morning at home, maybe catch up on some blogging (and I can't tell you how much it bothers me that I'm behind) but Joey, as soon as his brother and sister left, ran up to me: "Mommy, I want to go to the pool. I want to go to the pool with the waterslide. The waterslide that is dark with the light stripes, Momma, that one. Do you know that one?"  He looked so hopeful that I started gathering up our suits. Okay, Joey, we can go to the pool.

"The one with the waterslide? With the stripes?"  He was so anxious that I took him to the right pool, and I promised him I would.  I even double-checked the hours of the Rutschbahn (the waterslide) on the pool's website.  Open by nine, daily, they said, so I promised we could go on the waterslide many, many times.

In case you ever end up going to a public Switzerland--you never know!--there are are a few things that are just slightly different. There are more changing rooms than you'd expect: there's one for Damen (women) and one for Männer (men), but there's also a separate changing room just for Knaben, or young men. I've mentioned that cameras aren't allowed at pools to deter pedophiliacs; they also give the young men their own safe space. It always interests me how, in some areas, the Swiss are so fiercely protective of their children, and in others, well, they're just not.

There's also a fourth changing cabinet, for Familien, or Families, and this is for any mix of people that you like, as long as you have your little kids with you--moms and dads both can use this particular room. I didn't know that at first, but luckily no dads came in until after I'd changed.

Those changing rooms are lined with lockers: sometimes you have to bring your own lock, and others are coin-operated, but you get your two-franc deposit back when you leave.

At this particular pool, there are also coin-operated tanning beds just down the hall from the changing rooms, which Ella found just fascinating, particularly since we're all the time pestering her about sun block.  The rooms are unattended: there's a little bucket of cleaning supplies for you to use before and after you tan, apparently.

As usual, you must shower before you enter the pool. At this pool, there were three shower rooms, one for men, one for young men, and one for everyone else.  And between the shower and the lockers is a room paneled with wall-mounted hair driers, which Joey loves to stand under, smiling beatifically, until his hair is floppy and brilliantly blond once again.

Once you walk past all this, you hit the pool...where you discover that the water slide your son has been so eagerly anticipating is closed until the afternoon "for ecological reasons." I guess I can understand that, since it was just us and a pool full of senior citizens doing aqua aerobics, but still.  Joey dropped his chin to his chest and declared, "Mommy, I'm sad."

As a consolation prize, we were allowed to go into the Wellnessbad, which, of course, I much preferred to the waterslide.  It was even more pleasant outside in the foggy morning air, without a dozen little kids splashing around, and I enjoyed my morning soak among the bubbles and pine trees more than I can say.  Joey got impatient, though, and occasionally would scoot along the edge of the pool to the stairs, hopping out, announcing "One minute! I just check!" I'd follow him out of the pool as he padded around the corner, peering to see if the waterslide had miraculously filled with water.  No dice.

Joey organizes his cars

Joey eventually gave up hope and announced he was ready to go home, so I reluctantly heaved myself out of the water. At least we had time to do the morning grocery run, still, although Joey wasn't sure that was a good thing.  Only later, when he was home playing with his cars, did he finally announce "Mommy, I happy."

Ella burst through the door at lunch time, chirping about the "exceedingly good day" that she'd had. Until Joey spilled the beans: "Ella, I go swimming. No waterslide."  Then Ella's face darkened and she started listing all of the various and sundry travails she's had to deal with all day...but then her stories once again took a turn for the better when I told her that we'd be going back to the pool on Wednesday.  We have a date with the Rutschbahn.

The kids were all solicitude and contentment this afternoon, to the point where Ella and Alex set up a "relaxing chair" for me, using my two little mixing bowls, filled with warm water.  But when Ella produced her electric blue nail polish and offered a manicure, I suddenly had to hop up, remembering that I was in the middle of making meatballs.

But I set the kids to painting something better than my nails: some toys that they'd made out of clay for Joey's birthday, which is now only about a month away.  Time is running out!

My little hive of industry

In other news, Alex brought home a notice today that his class is going to a play tomorrow, to a theater that is about a half-hour away away, on public transportation...tomorrow. I can't help but think about how, if this were America, we'd know about the play four weeks out, and there would be a chaperone for every three kids. But no, this notice was dated on Sunday, 9/25, for a play tomorrow.

But you see classes like his on the buses and trams all the time, and they do just fine. Little well-ordered children, wearing their reflective sashes and walking in two straight lines. They smile at the good, and frown at the bad.

He'll have a great time.