Yesterday was the girl’s final swimming lesson until the next session ramps up.

I had reminded them to please get changed quickly after the lesson as the observation deck kind enough to host Chloe and I quickly becomes a dangerous jungle gym for swinging from the metal stands that will inevitably claim one or all of her teeth in a face to make-shift uneven parallel bar collision.

Both girls have asked on several occasions to get changed without my help which is fine with me for a couple of reasons. 1) They are learning to become more independent by rinsing, drying off, finding their locker and dressing themselves and 2) it saves me from having to open 500 lockers to figure out which one Chloe is hiding in before we can head to the car. Secret reason 3) I’m really, really tired.

I must admit this break-in business has been draining. I am not sleeping. I’m trying to remember everything that has gone missing for the insurance adjuster. I’m staring at a boarded up door wondering if I will ever feel safe in my own home again.

Exhausted, I proceeded with caution into the change room to collect my fully dressed girls and my happy baby who was not playing peek-a-boo from within a metal box with my soon-to-be inflamed ulcer.

Except I didn’t have a happy baby, I had a baby who was working a sock-to-rule campaign, refusing footwear of any kind for no apparent reason as she dashed barefoot to find her cubby of choice.

I didn’t have two independent, young girls shining from freshly cleaned skin, fully clothed ready to drive home.

I had one kid wrapped in a towel who looked at me stunned as though she had left any memory of her own name floating in the shallow end and one standing nude who tossed a pair of soaking underwear in my direction which I foolishly reached out for and caught with the finesse of a professional.

Me: Why are these wet?

Kid who will remain nameless (rhymes with Banana): I dropped them in the toilet.

Go team.