Pass the Salt

Good day for the Mamacita. Good, good day. Because today we returned to our 'Mommy and Me' swimming class and what does that mean? Salt water! All you can drink.

Before I give the impression that Theron's love of the pool is based solely on flavor, let me be clear. She kicks. She splashes. She belly laughs rather maniacally as our instructor,
Yarka (long-legged, blond, Scandanavian trollop!) pulls her through the water, the Mamacita's arms outstretched. And then? She skims for algae.

Well, of course I'm kidding. A country club pool certainly has no algae. But if it did we could skip lunch on swim days. Like her distant mammalian cousins, the baleen whales who troll the oceans mouths agape letting the maritime flora and fauna simply swim to their whale-dinner demise, so too does the Mamacita tackle the wild waters of the CCoC swimming pool.

In a members-friendly effort to alleviate deteriorating swimsuits, chapped skin and green-tinged hair the management of CCoC has chosen a non-chlorinated cleaning agent for the aquatics facilities. These alternatives are saline based and thus, a salt junkie is born.

I can't blame her having myself always preferred salty to sweet. Pass on the chocolate but hand me those french fries. For the Mamacita the sentiment is the same but with a twist. As one can imagine, this penchant for savoring salty goodness poses a problem when learning to swim. How do we convince her that keeping her mouth shut underwater is preferable to lungs-be-damned chugging?

So far she's proved formidable. Sitting on the edge of the pool she closes her mouth as I give a verbal count down. One...two...THREE! Then in she goes, my hands guiding her and as her head slips underwater I think this time, this time she's figured it out. But as I pull her back to me her excited eyes break the surface and I can see glee -- followed by her full, open mouth with which I swear she is gargling the lukewarm concoction as a sommelier would a fine Pinot.

We're going to a beach in Mexico in a few months. One taste and I imagine the Mamacita will see the ocean as one big dirty martini - or the toddler's equivalent thereof. Apologies in advance to those whose trips will follow our own. The water levels are sure to be low.


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