Category: Aquatics

Military Life: A Constant Lesson in Compromise

Last Monday, Justin forwarded me an email from his branch manager. While they attempted to find him a job in Georgia, it just won’t be possible. He was asked to choose between Fort Jackson and Fort Leonard Wood.

Hurricanes or tornadoes?

Every few years we move, and every few year I’m given a choice. Here or there, left or right, up or down. My answer is always the same: it’s your job–you pick.

This might not be how other military families do it, but honestly, I learned a long time ago that if he’s happy at his job, he’s happy in life. I am not about to be responsible for choosing our location, only to have him stuck in a job he hates.

We’re pretty decent at this whole relocating thing.From the moment I first moved down to Georgia, 12 1/2 years ago, we decided: Justin gets the first 20 years, and I get the next 20. It’s kind of like when we drive 15 hours to visit family: he gets the first chunk, and I get to drive when he gets tired. Lucky me.

The upside? It’s given me nearly 2 decades of extra time to figure out what the heck I want to do when I grow up. I love my job, and I love working in Aquatics, and I am beyond grateful that staying here for 6 years granted me the opportunity to come back to Aquatics, after my time off to have babies. Chances are, my options will most likely be limited the next time around, and honestly, that’s ok. Maybe this will be the duty station I decide to go back to school and get a bachelors degree in……………something?

For the record, he chose hurricanes, which I’m pretty excited about–well, not the hurricanes, but sunshine and warm weather and a relatively close ocean. Now we wait and see if the Army changes its mind and sends us someone completely random.

Who Taught You Manners!?

It’s been a crazy few weeks, especially at work. I haven’t been able to work out my typical 5-7 days a week. Instead, it’s been more like once or twice a week, if I’m lucky. And by lucky, I mean, if Justin is around on weekends to watch the kids so I can go for a super slow run. I am so, so slow.

I also have to add that nothing about me has changed. I haven’t gained 100lbs, or something weird like that. If anything, I’ve probably  lost a little weight, simply from an increase in stress, and a decrease in time to eat (well, ok. I did have ice cream for lunch one day last week. Don’t judge me).

Yesterday, while running up and down stairs to the office I currently occupy, I was called over to the side of the pool by a woman who comes in and does water aerobics nearly every day. I thought for sure she was going to make a comment about me only teaching once this past week. Boy, was I mistaken:

“Sam! Are your pants too small?”

Um…I’m slightly confused, but don’t worry, it’s about to get so much better.

“I’ve never seen you with a belly!”

I pull the waist of my workout pants up, tucking my gut, and the extra skin riddled with stretch marks, back into the confines of the spandex (for the record, it was well hidden under my shirt). “Oh, I’ve always had a belly. I just hide it well.”

“Well, I’ve never noticed you having a belly before! You came down the stairs, and I thought, ‘oh my gosh, is she pregnant?!'”

Excuse me, what?! “Oh, no no no. No more babies for me. I’m done having babies.” I smile and walk away, sucking in my gut the entire way back up the stairs.

Did that just happen?!

When I told a co-worker about what was just said, he nearly spit his drink out as he burst out laughing. “It’s not funny,” he responded, “but, I mean, it kind of is.”

This woman is notorious for being nasty to the lifeguards. In fact, there are quite a few senior women who feel as though they are allowed to be disrespectful, simply because the lifeguards are young. Normally, I am not the one on the receiving end of their nasty attacks–obviously because I’m old. Or at least much older than the average lifeguard. I am constantly telling the kids working, “they would be horrified if any of you spoke to them they way they speak to you.”

Has no one taught them manners?! Or have they decided that they’re too cool–or perhaps too old–for manners. These women complain frequently about disrespectful millennials. Yet, they can saunter over to me with a grouchy face and say, “excuse me? Whose music is this?? Do you realize we are old?? Can’t you put it on Golden Oldies, or something like that?!” My response was, “of course I can!” But as I walk away to put something else on, I think, “‘C’mon N’ Ride It (The Train)’ is over 20 years old. It’s older than most of the lifeguards!” Who in the world walks into an exercise class and immediately complains about the music!?

Perhaps these women have just been catered too for entirely too long. Or they have too much time on their hands. Or NO ONE EVER TAUGHT THEM MANNERS!

I suggest we spend a week speaking to them the way they speak to us. The complaints we would receive wouldn’t be worth it. But where can we send our complaints about nasty patrons??

The girl guarding during my interaction with little miss “are you pregnant,” later said to me, “What the fuck was that about!? You handled that so well, cuz I probably would’ve kicked her in the face!” Dang, why didn’t I think to kick her!? Her face was perfectly located at foot level. But, alas. My momma taught me manners. She also taught me to kill them with kindness.

So, it’s fine. It’s whatever. I’ll keep my “I carried 2 babies” belly safely hidden behind the confines of some good quality spandex. And I’ll keep smiling and saying, “good morning,” while I think, “what a bratty old hag.”

The Aquatics Career that Wasn’t

For the past few weeks, I have taken on the role of “Acting Aquatics Coordinator,” while the current Assistant Manager is recuperating from back surgery. It has been hectic. I had to organize and run an Easter event, which consisted of LOTS of running around, LOTS of being organized (or pretending to be at least), and LOTS of talking. Talking to parents. Talking over a sound system. Talking to angry parents. Talking to kids. So much talking happened. I put my performance major to work–only, with less singing. I spent the week telling Justin, “if I can just get through Saturday, everything will calm down and I can take a breath.”

Just kidding.

For those of you who live ABOVE the Mason/Dixon line, you probably don’t realize that summer is about to start here in the south. Which means prepping a water park to open. And doing everything required to make sure a water park  can open. I have dealt with marketing, done a lot of ordering, and sent in so many work orders. In fact, the Aquatics Director informed me yesterday, “you know, Sam, not all work orders have to be written work orders. Most you can just email.” To the magic work order fairy, obviously (as he failed to mention where one sends these work orders). Meanwhile, some high-up here at Fort Knox is sitting in his office asking, “why does Samantha Steeves need my approval to have sink sensors replaced!?” The work force on post is getting these approved work orders and thinking, “dang, we better act fast!” Maybe I’m on to something here.

In the last pay period, I worked 64 hours. I know, I know, that’s over 2 weeks. But normally, it’s a big deal if I go over 30. Which is plenty, because I still have to rush home and be a full time stay at home mom!

This afternoon when I checked my email and saw that the second Assistant Aquatics Manager position is open, and will be filled, I was excited and bummed all at once. The timing sucks.

I am the “always the bridesmaid; never the bride” of aquatics. In 2006, I was the ACTING Aquatics Director for 5 months before the position opened–2 months before we were getting ready to leave for Germany. In 2008, I was the ACTING Aquatics Director for 4 months when the position in Germany opened–a month before my due date. This time around, it’s Assistant Aquatics Director, which I was for nearly 2 years in Germany. Unfortunately, we’re less than 4 weeks away from summer vacation.

I will now sit back and watch kids a decade my junior, duke it out over a position I am beyond qualified for. Childless, 25-year-old Sam is inside screaming, “what are you doing!?!? Apply for the damn job!” And the practically-35-year-old Sam is telling that voice to quit it. This is about to be summer vacation! That time where my kids and I get to kick back, play outside, swim all day and eat ice cream, visit family, and just enjoy the weather. I so badly want to once again advance my aquatics career, but I still want to be a stay at home mom!

If this past 3 weeks has taught me anything, it’s that I am not one of those amazing women that can handle a full time job and be a functioning mother and wife. My house is a crazy mess. I’m pretty sure Xander’s school re-registration form is somewhere, waiting to be put back in his backpack (only in the military do you have to register your kids for school every year. Ah, military life).

Aquatics will always be the career I go back to, and these last 2 years have done a lot to remind me of that. I ran a pool. Heck, I ran 4 pools! When the assistant comes back, or the second assistant is hired, I will step back down to “just a lifeguard” once more. I will mentor and help them in any way I can.

Someday, in 6 or more years, I will be able to pursue my career, while Justin takes on the role of Stay at Home Dad. I can’t wait to come home at the end of the day and ask, “what did you do all day!?”

Just kidding–our house will probably be spotless.

Genocide at the Water Park

Folks, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but every spring, babies are murdered by the millions at pools around the country. No one is even discussing this horrific occurrence. Why aren’t people fighting for their right to develop legs!?

That’s right. I’m talking about tadpole murder.

Last Thursday, my kids had no school. It’s prime water park clean-up time, so I took them over and let them run around and catch tadpoles while I got some work done. The pool was being drained, so when they asked to take the tadpoles home, I filled a cup with as many as I could scoop in. We currently have 30-something tadpoles living in a tote on our back patio. I feel like the dentist in Finding Nemo–We found these little guys, swimming around in a gunky pool. And we SAVED them!

Well, my kids did. I just gave them a new home.

I had to!!! They were going to be sucked through a giant hose and end up in a sewer! Or worse!!!

Yesterday, I discovered the “worse.”

As I brushed and scrubbed dried leaves up from the empty pool, I uncovered the horror. The Kermits that will never be. It was pretty sad.

AND THEN IT GOT WORSE!!!

How could it possibly get worse, I’m sure you’re all thinking. I came across a puddle full of the lucky little tadpoles, who fate managed to save. Except, of course that the puddle was rapidly evaporating, and they were going to suffer the fate of their friends (who, by the way, basically MELTED into the pool surface. They will require a good amount of pressure washing to remove). I struggled with the dilemma: do I attempt to save more tadpoles, or do I just let them be sacrificed to the Aquatics Gods?

By the end of my shift, no tadpoles had survived the horrific scene. I pictured frogs outside the fence, with their little picket signs, protesting for the fair treatment of their babies.

Of course, then I started thinking about lifeguard shirts. Obviously, right?! Well, yes, because only a few weeks ago, after my supervisor announced that they wanted to redesign the staff shirts, I went looking for ideas. I Googled, “Lifeguard Shirt.” As I was scrolling along, I stumbled upon a shirt with an image in the center of the cross that is usually found on lifeguard shirts. “Ooh fun, what is that a picture of…oh my gosh, that’s a fetus.” With a whole long list of what the “Life Guards” do. They probably won’t save you if you’re drowning, but they WILL let you know all about how they want to save the lives of all fetuses out there.  My eye roll at this discovery was so violent, I’m sure it was audible. Nothing says, “you are a human incubator” more than fighting for fetus rights, over women’s rights. I am much more heartbroken over the loss of these little tadpoles! Where’s the Pro-Amphibian-Rights group!?

Of course, I suppose you could put a tadpole in the center of a Lifeguard Cross, but honestly, people would probably think you were protecting the rights of sperm. “Making sure no man has to suffer the torment of a vasectomy. Save the Sperm.” No, that definitely does not belong on a shirt. I can just imagine every crusty white man in politics, wearing such a shirt and fighting for the wrong swimmers. WE’RE SUPPOSED TO BE HERE FOR THR TADPOLES!!!

Behind our house is an area Justin and I call “The Danger Zone.” It’s a giant fenced in area with multiple DANGER signs posted around it. And it floods every time it rains. The runoff from the neighborhood and surrounding areas is directed there. It rains, The Danger Zone becomes a giant pond, and then for as many nights as that pond chooses to stick around, frogs hang around looking for love. IN ALL THE WRONG PLACES!!! When I stand outside and say, “don’t do it, froggies!” Justin gives me weird looks. When I tell him someone should really hang a sign, warning the frogs that this area only temporarily becomes a pond, he asks, “what is wrong with you!?” It is not a good place to have babies. Unless you’re that frog who has decided she’s just not ready to have tadpoles of her own. Maybe The Danger Zone is more like an amphibious Planned Parenthood. 

No matter what the situation our mommy frog found herself in, we were more than happy to take these tadpoles home. Xander can’t wait for them to grow legs. I can’t wait for one of them to learn how to play the banjo so he can sing “The Rainbow Connection.” Obviously.