T to the third power

There is a thing called T3. This is a Terrible, Toddler Tantrum. You will know what it is when you see one. I happen to be a skilled people watcher (and being the eldest have witnessed more than my fair share). My powers are surprising. I have learned to weed out the weak swimmers, label the single mothers and zero in on the problem children. The tantrum is one of the more unique episodes that I am able to observe while sitting in my invisible chair.

It is always the children that seem so innocent, carrying their bag of toys while wearing ridiculously tiny flip flops. They are the ones that you have to watch out for. The moment I set my eyes on "Cayden" I knew that he fit the profile. He was bouncing between two categories. 1. The child who will drown quickly after he forces his mom to take off his life jacket or 2. The child who throws tantrums, not even a mother could love. I quickly found out that he was both.

Cayden was promptly suited up in his Racecar decorated piece of foam. I never liked lifejackets. They look quite ridiculous, even on the cutest children. Arm movement also proves to be quite difficult. That leaves me with a pool of bobbing children. Up and down they go, never really doing much but sit and giggle at the fact that they can go in the deep end and not worry about the depths that could swallow them whole.

Cayden began his adventures with a few kicks and splashes, easily making it from the wall to the steps in a matter of seconds. Of course he had to come over and say hi to me (one too many times) and then head back to carrying a diving stick around or just meerly floating along. His delightful giggles began to be intermixed with shrieks of annoyance. It started with 5 minute interval which were quickly shortened to 30 second ones. This boy could yell! I tried to hide my smile as the young mother tried to calm him.

The spasms attacked his vocal chords, making it impossible to decipher what he was trying to get across. If hadn’t been watching him, I would of thought someone was stabbing him. The painfully shrill screams stretched across the pool. Other patrons were quick to watch the single mother and see how she would handle her spastic child. She didn’t know what to do. Soon the answer was made clear: he wanted a noodle. A noodle was given and the screams disappeared as quickly as they came. I could tell by the shrieks that Cayden was not going to last much longer. Soon, there would be peace and quiet.

Cayden lasted for only about 15 more minutes with his ‘bestie’ Madison. They bobbed along using diving sticks as their imaginary “beers”. “Look mom, yummm. It’s beer.” The shocked looks on both mother’s faces were priceless. Their jaws dropped but then turned into giggles. I tried to maintain a straight face as Cayden and Madison slurped down their “beers”, but my efforts failed.

Side note: How do children play by themselves for endless hours? There IS only so much you can do in a pool. I am baffled.