The Old, Grouchy Mom’s Guide To The Water Park

It’s summer, y’all, and I’m sure at some point we’ll be making a trip to the water park. You know, the place where people let it all hang out.

Literally.

Whether they should or not.

But that’s another topic.

Getting Prepared

As the mom/wife in this scenario, I understand there can be some stress from all the planning/work/swimsuit shopping that has to be done to make it a fun trip. So, here are a few things I’ve learned that may help you on your outing.

The most important thing is starting with a good foundation, which in this case is a swimsuit that makes you look like a Sports Illustrated model. Or at least something that doesn’t make you look like a busted can of biscuits.

I recently lost about 85 lbs, which leaves me smaller, but also with flaps of skin that somewhat resemble deflated tires. I’d like to think that one of these days I’ll be brave enough and rich enough to get a tummy tuck, but in the meantime, I still have weight to lose and Spanx are just going to have to be my best friend.

As most women know, finding the perfect swimsuit is a little like finding a unicorn eating in a field of four leaf clovers and farting fairy dust that smells like cupcake sprinkles. It just doesn’t exist.

So we are stuck trying to locate something that has as many of the correct attributes as possible. In my case, that would be something that hides the side boob fat that somehow didn’t disappear with the other fat and jiggly rolls around my middle that are half-fat, half-deflated skin. I also need something to cover at least the tops of my thighs because apparently, 10,000 squats are no match for age and gravity.

Also, one of the rules I have for swimwear is that when I walk, I shouldn’t resemble a jello shot that is stubbornly clinging to the little plastic cup that you have to dig out with your fingers and scoop into your mouth in a very unladylike fashion.

Not that I would know anything about that.

And on a side note, aren’t you guys jealous that my husband gets to see this Mom-bod everyday?

I knew you were.

Ideally, if I had my way, those swimsuits from the early 1900’s would make a comeback and would take care of these problems. You know the ones – high neck, ¾ length sleeves, knee length skirt with bloomers underneath.

You just can’t go wrong with a great pair of bloomers!

Also, something that wicks away the under-boob sweat would be nice.

I know. Now I’m talking about that rainbow-farting unicorn, right?

And once you have the right swimsuit, it’s time for accessories.

If you’re like me, your vampire tendencies come to the surface when an outing is proposed, and this vampire doesn’t sparkle. She burns. So my beach bag always has the following in it:

• SPF 100,000 sunscreen
• a floppy hat that can provide shade for the state of Rhode Island
• sunglasses that resemble the giant ones you buy at Chuck E Cheese with tickets you won after playing $500,000 worth of skee ball.

On a side note, I have to say, I’ve been wearing sunscreen on my face since the mid-80’s because as a teenager I was really weird and paranoid about wrinkles. While everybody else was greasing up with baby oil and spraying Sun-In in their already too orange hair, I was using that new-fangled moisturizer with sunscreen in it and staying inside until the sun was safely below the horizon.

I got made fun of for that but guess what? I’m almost 47 now and I don’t have wrinkles.

WHO’S LAUGHING NOW, BITCHES?!?

The Park

Once you’ve got the swimsuit, the accessories, and the sun protection, it’s time to prepare yourself mentally and emotionally for the water park.

Now, this isn’t really an issue if you’re a sociable type person. But if you’re like me and would rather have a Mammogram than be out in the general public, it’s vital that you psych yourself up.

I find that listening to “Welcome to The Jungle” or “Let The Bodies Hit the Floor” is helpful. It really puts you into that Kum-ba-ya spirit.

Not really. It just makes you want to kick shit over. But that can be handy when you’re going to be among people.

Having a few drinks is also helpful, unless you’re the one driving. Then, drinking is not really helpful at all. It’s more of a hindrance and it’s illegal and dangerous and not at all a good idea.

And that’s your After School Special moment for the day.

Now hold on, Kat. Don’t you think drinking before entering a family water park is kind of a bad idea?

Well, Judgy McJudgerson, it CAN be if you get all fall down, three sheets to the wind drunk. I never said to do that. There’s nothing worse than being labeled The Vodka Lady at the water park.

Not that I would know anything about that.

I’m just saying get a nice little buzz going so that you can pretend you’re on a beach somewhere being catered to by your hot, gay cabana boy named Paco.

I know what you’re thinking. Kat, why is it necessary to point out that the cabana boy in this scenario is gay? And why is his name Paco?

Well, I’m glad you asked. I have to point out that the cabana boy is gay so that the jealous Italian Husband Dude I’m married to doesn’t get all sensitive about the fact that my fantasy cabana boy has a six pack on his six pack.

He basically has a 12 pack.

Also, HE’S JUST A FANTASY!

And as for why he’s named Paco…I don’t know. You’ll have to ask his parents.

I also find that getting comfortably buzzed helps to NOT be the grouchy old lady that screams at the tweens who keep getting into splashing fights with each other directly next to wherever I sit. Nobody wants to be known as the Get-Off-My-Lawn Lady at the water park.

Not that I would know anything about that.

Once you get to the park, be prepared for a cursory search of your bag. Don’t worry. They’re just looking for the usual contraband:

outside food or drinks,

weapons,

glass containers that may or may not have rum in them,

a Nerf super-soaker for repelling tweens who get too close,

a ferret.

You know, the usual.

When you enter the park, be sure you bypass the concession stand altogether, because otherwise you will be robbed. The kids working there may as well be wearing pantyhose masks and carrying semi-automatics. I suggest you make sure everybody has eaten prior to entering the park and then be prepared to use the water fountains for hydration.

Or just get really good at hiding contraband in your beach bag.

Not that I would know anything about that.

And now comes the exciting part of our visit. The search for a lounge chair in the shade.

Because I don’t know about you, but when my family is floating down the lazy river or sliding down some three story 90 degree drop into a shallow pool, this Mama takes advantage of the quiet time to catch up on reading and people watching.

And this, my friends, is where all those games of Musical Chairs and Duck Duck Goose in Kindergarden comes in handy. It also doesn’t hurt to have a little P90X and Tae Bo under your belt as well.

Stay sharp. At first glance, it’s going to look like all the seats are taken. You’re going to see nothing but a sea of chairs “marked” as occupied by beach towels, miscellaneous personal property, flotation devices and in some cases, actual bodies lying on them. But with careful observation and keen senses, you will eventually spot the one chair in the middle of the chaos that is completely empty.

And I guarantee, 20 other people have also already spotted it.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve trampled pregnant women, a guy with a limp, and an elderly lady on a walker to claim my lounger.

I didn’t say I’m proud either.

And again, I can sense that the Judgy McJudgersons are already writing me hate mail.

Look, this is Oklahoma, where the Land Rush was actually a thing and people were allowed to rush out and stake their claim on a piece of land, but not until it was opened to Homesteading. A lot of people rushed the land before the official opening and tried to stake their claims and had to be removed by the Army. These people came to be known as “Sooners”.

And while Sooner used to have a negative connotation, the University of Oklahoma adopted it as their mascot, so to speak, thus asserting their pride at coming too soon.

Okay…maybe that wasn’t the best phrasing.

Thus asserting their pride at disregarding rules and beating everybody else out for their little piece of heaven.

That didn’t sound any better, did it?

Anyway, being a Sooner no longer has a negative connotation.

Unless you’re an Oklahoma State Cowboy.

Or a University of Texas Longhorn.

Or anyone who has had their collective asses handed to them by OU’s football team.

So, I like to think when I’m jumping five year olds like Bruce Jenner jumping hurdles in the ’76 Olympics, I’m just adopting that “can-do” spirit of my adopted home state.

Because history.

Once you’ve laid claim to your lounger and adjusted it to the perfect 45 degree angle (look, Ma! Geometry!), it’s time to settle in while the family all go their separate ways.

And that’s when you become the official Keeper of The Stuff.

What exactly is The Stuff? The Stuff is comprised of beach bags, towels, clothing, cell phones, iPods, earbuds, car keys, sunglasses, wallets, sunscreen, chapstick, eyeglasses, flip flops, cover ups, overpriced drink cups and some loose change.

So pretty much the next four hours is comprised of me watching people, reading, and then jumping up to scream at my teenager to come get some more sunscreen on because if I have to take him to the doctor again for another second degree sunburn, the doctor is liable to call DHS on me.

“You didn’t have to yell that all across the water park, Mom.”

“Sorry. Sometimes I forget that I’m using my outside voice instead of just saying it in my head.”

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

The Aftermath

Four hours, 10 coats of sunscreen and three refills of Rum and Coke later, it’s time to go home. This is the fun part.

And by fun, I mean the part where somebody ends up angry, somebody is yelling, and somebody is crying.

It may or may not be me on all three counts.

This is where I have to hand over The Stuff that I’ve so carefully been ignoring watching for everybody. And inevitably, there’s something missing.

That’s when I get grilled like I’m the coat check girl at the country club who just lost the rich lady’s best mink stole.

And after much frenzied searching (Aha! It was in the bottom of the bag!) and bickering and the general moodiness that comes from being hungry, hot and tired after a day in the sun, we slowly make our way out to the parking lot and into our car.

The Husband Dude will inevitably ask me if I had fun.

And even though I’m tired, hot and grouchy from peopling with people all day, I always say yes. Because I did.

And because I don’t want to be known as the bitchy wife who never wants to go out in public and would be perfectly happy living in complete isolation from the world.

Not that I would know anything about that….