My son tried to kill me yesterday. I’m trying to swim everyday for my health, just like the doctor ordered. I was looking forward to having the rest of the afternoon free, as the kids were going to music lessons and they’re a good drive away. I get out of the pool, dry myself off … and the glass door was locked. The hubby keeps this place locked down like a fortress, and I tried everything. I pried a screen off a window, tried to jimmy the lock on a side door, and went out front in my robe to see if the front door was maybe -by some miracle- open. It wasn’t.
It is Arizona. The high today was 112 degrees. I had chest pain and shortness of breath, but had no way of knowing whether it was the chlorine, the heat, dehydration, or anxiety. So I got out a pool floaty and drifted in the pool, keeping my core body temperature as low as I could and hydrating as well as possible without any bottled water (your body absorbs plenty of water through the skin). I practiced yoga breathing, watched the birds napping and pooping (damn birds) and thought about all the ways I would kill my family when they got home. If I survived.
Every now and then, I’d peer in the glass doorway, and the cat would meow and try to claw the door open. Obviously, he is the only one who loves me around here, even if it’s only when he’s hungry.
It was still 108 degrees out by the time my family got home more than THREE HOURS after leaving me in the blistering Arizona heat. My husband is very lucky he didn’t think this was freaking hilarious, as I was mentally McGyvering his untimely death with various garden tools and decorative gravel. He had the appropriately horrified look when he discovered me banging on the door, still wearing my swimsuit and The Look Of Death.
The culprit was Seth, my 12-year-old. I knew he’d turn on me one day.
On a positive note, my daughter has now nicknamed him “Mommy-killer.”