Sprinkler Frolicking

Evidently, “sprinkler frolicking” is not the innately enjoyed American pastime I had presumed it to be. Children do –however- have an innate predilection for challenging all previously held presumptions. Eowyn is no exception.

It was a lovely, warm spring day, one which prompts toddlers to literally salivate for watery recreation. Thus, eagerly donning her chaste bikini (oxymoronic?), Eowyn hastened to our postage-stamp size lawn in anticipation of “sprinkler frolicking.” Yet, when the liquid rainbow cascaded upon my diminutive darling, she froze in horrified shock, crying, “Mama, Help Me! I am getting all wet!” Clearly, the objective was not clearly communicated. Rescuing her from the punctual aquatic parade, I agreed to carry her through again, stubbornly refusing to abandon this (practically) patriotic lawn party. An ironic choice of words considering my next move: Twisting a towel into a turban-type shower cap to keep my tresses untouched, I ran and leapt with Eowyn to illustrate “sprinkler frolicking.” Upon reflection, this probably appeared more like a Taliban training technique- though I am fairly certain the bikini clad female probably cleared up any misconceptions.

Five times I leapt through the sprinkler shower. Five times, Eowyn produced that forced laugh (eerily reminiscent of the one I normally reserve for craft-making social events). She hated this all American pastime. Safely situated at a distance from the predictable and still offensive sprinkler, Eowyn requested that I turn on the water again. Confused by her request she clarified for me: “Mama, I want to watch YOU jump through it.”And this is where I drew the line. Dignity must on occasion be sacrificed for the sake of proper parenting-like performing the “Peeper Dance” for your potty-training three year old. Yet, a thirty year old who is "sprinkler frolicking" alone is above the call of duty- even if I still secretly enjoy this patriotic pastime. We called it a day.