Wednesday, September 30, 2009

How Come You Don't Write About Kinu?

(Little Lauren Kinu just moments after the scene of the crime. Guilty as charged)
Made a drastic mistake this week and took all three girls swimming in the pool beneath the apartment. Xi’an is an otter and leaps from my legs like some amphibian cartoon character, shimmering under the water like a fishing lure back and forth from the ladder to my legs and back again. Rebekah wears a life jacket and likes to be thrown into the deep end like a medicine ball for over an hour and she never once stops singing the Mama Mia soundtrack. Egads! Little Lauren Kinu is still a baby and I hold her the whole time. Bobbing up and down. Her little smile and giggles bouncing off the tile walls. Joyous, right? Being a dad is the coolest thing I’ve ever experienced, right?
Then it happened.
Rebekah was about three feet away when her legs got tangled in the ropes of a floating life preserver and went face down. I got to her soon enough but she swallowed enough water to make her puke. An entire lunch of orange crab cakes and miso soup with rice came burping up onto the water like some heinous, float-attacking amoeba stain, lurking upon the water. It was then I noticed Kinu was not wearing a diaper under her baggy suit and the yellow spray of diarrhea shooting out in the other direction across the water. There was nothing I could do. Standing there, shirtless, in the middle of the pool, with a hysterical, vomitous, half drowned child in one arm, a shrieking, scat geysering toddler in another, and my eldest, in goggles, swimming innocently right in the middle of it.
There is nothing for a poor father to do but flee.
So we did, leaving a disgusting trail of water, puke, runny poop and disgusting stares across the pool, through the lobby, into the elevator, and all the way past my front door right into the tub. And people ask me all the time, why don’t you ever write about your youngest? Kinu…? Kinu who? Standing over the three girls, drying them with towels while they laugh at me, “Daddy, you so funny. Why are you crying?”
“Oh, nothing girls. I just remembered I have to go clean it up.

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