That one weekend, I almost said no.
It had been a long week. The kind that sits on your shoulders and doesn’t ask permission. I was tired. Not just “need a nap” tired. The deeper kind. The kind where even putting on sunscreen feels like a task.
But the kids wanted to go to the pool.
And something in me knew… I needed it too.
So we packed the towels. Grabbed the mismatched flip-flops. Argued about snacks. Found the goggles that were “literally right there.” You know, the usual chaos.
And then we got there.
The smell of chlorine. The sharp echo of splashing. Kids laughing like nothing in the world has ever gone wrong. And I felt it — that small shift inside me.
At first, I just sat on the edge. Feet in the water. Watching them jump in like they didn’t have deadlines, bills, or back pain waiting for them at home.
Then one of them yelled, “Get in!”
And I did.
Cold water. Instant shock. Instant reset.
There’s something about being in a pool with your kids that forces you into the moment. You can’t scroll. You can’t multitask. You can’t overthink your entire life while someone is cannonballing next to you.
You just… play.
We raced from one end to the other. I lost. On purpose. (Maybe.) We laughed so hard I swallowed half the pool. Worth it.
And for those couple of hours, I wasn’t exhausted. I wasn’t overwhelmed. I wasn’t thinking about Monday.
I was just there.
Present.
Sometimes recharging doesn’t look like silence or solitude. Sometimes it looks like wet hair, wrinkled fingers, and french fries after.
That weekend reminded me that rest isn’t always quiet.
Sometimes it’s loud.
Sometimes it’s messy.
Sometimes it’s chlorine and chaos and joy all at once.
And honestly? I needed that more than I knew.
