First big family outing in a while, this. Mormor, Uncle D, cousins A and V and the three of us all went to the local pool.
One of the things I like most about Sweden is their Viking history. It filters down into society on a national level in the cheery, quiet way Swedes do so well. Our local pool is called Valhalla. For a myth/legend/fantasy roleplaying nerd like me, being able to say 'I went swimming in Valhalla last weekend' is completely awesome.
Like the bus route that travels to nearby Bifrost (one of Göteborg's suburbs), however, the reality is less of a heavy metal album cover than I dreamed. True, the woman at the front desk did recognise Freja. Only because her pram has a customised nameplate, though, not because she recognised a returning goddess. Nor is it pulled by cats, however cool V and I may be. As valkyries went, she was kind of... I don't know, Librarian-y? Tortoiseshell glasses, jumper and nametag. No chainmail anywhere. I suppose it wouldn't help much in a swimming pool, but still disappointing.
F loved swimming. She loved the warm shower beforehand. She loved the noise and shrieking. She loved hanging out with her cousins and kept trying to run after them in the paddling pool. She loved being carried about by comparatively naked parents. I kept hearing the ghosts of the midwives muttering 'skin to skin' in the background.
The heated pool wasn't open, we were just swimming at room temperature, but F stayed happily enthralled for about an hour and a half before getting tired. Even then, I couldn't in all honesty say if she got tired and shouty because she was cold or because she'd tried to bite through a metal sprinkler casing and failed. Cousin A lasted the longest of us all, sternly denying he was cold as he watched older kids jump off the high diving board and shivered madly.
I hadn't enjoyed swimming so much in years. Public baths get reallly dull when you're older. Endless lengths, either stuck behind some doddering pensioner doing a functional breaststroke or being mown down by sneering professionals crawling like an outboard motor. Getting out with grey, chlorine-bleached skin that makes you look like an elderly prune. Where's the joy in that? Running around in the shallow end with your little nephew on a foam surfboard, pretending he's a motorboat driver - that is exercise I can get behind.
We went to McDonalds afterwards, which slightly spoiled all the health I guess. Worth it for the looks as I spoonfed F her spaghetti and sauce from a milkshake cup, though. The guys behind the till wouldn't risk untrademarked tupperware in their microwave, against the manufacturer's recommendations or something. There were whole tables of parents staring at me with concentrated hatred in their eyes. A little hypocritical seeing as their own (older) sprogs were knee-deep in nuggets, of course, but there you go.
F loved the restaurant, of course, more noise and lights and things to stare at. Part of her contentment turned out to be that she'd swiped a rattle from the kids' pool by way of a momento, the crafty devil, and was rattling it gladly under cover of her sheepskin. Plus watching mamma and pappa eating food with their fingers was a novelty to her, she liked that.
A really good day out, all in all. I'm looking forward to going again, after suddenly remembering how much fun swimming used to be as a kid. Takes kids to remind you of that, I guess.
Breaking Spoon Eating Developments - There have been no new spoon eating developments.
No comments:
Post a Comment