How to Put Up a Pool With Your Kids Part Two
Emotional Damage Edition
Day 2: Saturday Morning Optimism (Mistake #1)
Rise and shine! Let’s go check on the pool.
Oh. No.
The pool has expanded so badly that the pavers underneath are now pushing up into the vinyl liner. I try to pull one out, and… rip. The liner tears. I cry.
Start draining the pool to dry the area and patch the holes I just created. The process creates a muddy disaster so massive it floods the basement, which, as I write this, is still drying out.
While I wait for the pool to drain, I look over at the patio area. It would actually be way better over there. All it needs is one more row of pavers. That should be simple, right?
Spoiler alert: It is not.
Start adding pavers. Realize the ground isn’t level. Cry again.
Begin leveling the patio area while dogs and children run through the freshly made swamp. Break up a mud fight. Briefly consider whether any of this is worth it. (It’s not. But we’re too far in now.)
Retreat into the house for a break and discover it’s a delightful 95 degrees inside. The HVAC has officially given up on life. Add “fix air conditioning” to the already dramatic list of problems.
Take an emotionally-fueled detour to Sam’s Club and purchase two portable air conditioning units with money I do not technically have. Install them, blast the cool air, and declare it worth every penny.
Return to my outdoor construction project and immediately get an ocular migraine. Stumble inside for a cold shower. Cry. Again.
Once I regain my vision, I emerge like a warrior reborn, determined to finish this patio. My husband gently points out that moving the pool to this now-level—but sopping—ground will only create another muddy mess. I begrudgingly agree to wait until it dries.
Day 3: The Final Countdown (Kind of)
Okay, let’s do this. Take down the pool legs. Sweep off the patio. I have my husband lift the pool off the ground while I slide out the tarp underneath. I watch as he nearly topples over, holding what essentially amounts to a parachute full of sharp metal rails.
We finally start laying the pool pad on the deck. It’s actually looking… promising?
Wait. Now we’ve made the pad muddy. Rinse the area with a hose. Realize I can’t put the pool on top of a sopping wet pool pad. Retreat to let it dry.
As we rest, I watch our dogs trot happily across the pad, creating a full paw-print mural. My kids start screaming at each other because someone sprayed someone else with a water gun, which, for the record, is the ENTIRE POINT OF THE TOY.
I cry. Again. (Yes, still.)
But wait — it’s dry! Let’s go!
We reassemble the pool and start filling it. We are so close.
And then we notice the porch isn’t as level as I thought. Cue another chaotic dash around the yard, throwing random bricks under pool legs to even it out.
Eventually… it’s fine. It’s not great, but it’s fine.
We let it fill.
Final thoughts?
I’ve never felt more unqualified for home ownership, parenting, or manual labor in general. I’ve cried no less than five times, injured myself twice, flooded a basement, and ruined a patch of eart
h that may never recover.
But I also laughed. I created (muddy, chaotic) memories with my kids. I MacGyver-ed an HVAC situation. And I get to end this madness floating in my uneven, probably-too-shallow pool... like a summer goddess who survived.
Sort of.