As the Summer Olympics in China begin, I wonder if my dad is getting a little Olympics nostalgia. On the other hand, maybe my enthusiasm for water in Devon tipped him off. Either way, I win because last weekend, Dad took me to the Portchester Baths near our house. For those of you who might wonder why I wouldn't just take a 'bath' at home (I am not naming names but I will say that it isn't a coincidence that collectively you find yourselves located on the other side of the Atlantic.), 'bath' in this instance is a Victorian Britishism meaning indoor swimming pool. 
As you can tell, I dig this kind of 'bath.' (Floating noodles are soooo much better than conventional bath toys.) Dad dunked me under the water and after the first few times with my mouth open, I realized it is much better mouth closed. The best part was micromanaging dad by pointing and directing him about where to go in the pool via primeval grunts.
(Did I mention that I am still a man of very few words? Why speak when you can grunt?)
Then again, why walk when you can float?
1 comment:
O'my gosh, he is getting so big and is such a doll. Aunt Karen sent me the link and it has been a great distraction from work catching up on everything going on in life this morning. Sounds like things couldn't be better. Thanks for sharing all these adorable photos and Saxton's commentary. Stay in touch and I will check regularly. Love, Jana
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