Last Saturday the high was 86.
When we bought it – the long-awaited, blow-up, backyard pool paradise – it was just barely March.
So I set a minimum temperature of 85 for opening day, knowing that without my sage input they’d have opened it immediately.
Instead they asked, regularly, what the high for the day was going to be.
By the time Saturday rolled around, with a high predicted of 86, I’m not sure who was happier.
All day they spent outside, laughing, splashing.
Aaaand, occasionally getting taken out by a big brother.
Sorry, Lula. I should have seen that one coming.