The other day I overcame my second biggest fear. Bikini's. Sharks is first. Stomach and boob showing swimsuit second. I never, ever wear a bikini. For a good reason. I own a mirror.
So here's the thing with bikinis. When you purchase them, they should come with either a free liposuction certificate, or some Zanac. Or, better yet, both. So, here's the itty bitty bikini story. When I say bikini, I'm not talking tankini. Not string, but not tank.
The boys and I went on the boat, and I decided (after some hot yoga and prep talk from the yoga instructor) to wear the evil piece of lycra. We got to Hodag beach, nobody was there, and I thought "screw you stomach rolls, momma's going swimming." I got in the water, played with the boys and Hankie has to poop. No prob. Brad and he hopped on the boat and went to the country club because the bathrooms at the beach weren't open. Why would they be? It's only 4th of July week Rhinelander. Anyway, off they went and Brod's and I stayed and played. After splashing around for awhile Brody looks at me and says "mom, I have to poop also." Seriously, they are like twins when it comes to bowel movements. If one has to go the other has to go. I should know this by now. So.......here's my options. Tell Brody to squeeze his cheeks and wait for his dad. Not healthy. Tell him to go in the woods by the beach. Not sanitary. Or, march across Hodag park to the bathrooms.
Alrighty folks. This is where we seperate the boys from the men. I mustered up some courage and walked past the guy cutting the lawn, people fishing, people eating lunch, dog walkers, and kids at the playground so Brody could poop. Me and all my raspberry pink glory.
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