When MJ was not quite 4 and Chloe was 2, we moved to Destin, Florida. We were there for six months, staying in a rented condo on the stunning beach. There was a pool, which we had essentially to ourselves all winter, and both girls learned to swim while we were there. In fact, by the time spring rolled around and the tourists started returning, they were both little fish. Frank and I would lounge in the adjacent hot tub, while our tiny little girls jumped, splashed, and swam in the pool.
It was funny to watch the reactions of the older tourists, especially to Chloe. As she would toddle close to the pool, they would begin twitching with the need to go save her, looking at Frank and me with open mouths and raised eyebrows as we kicked back in the hot tub, smiling calmly. Then Chloe would fling herself off the edge in a high-flying cannonball, paddle to the steps, and do it all over again.
The Spring Breakers provided some entertainment, too. There was one time when a couple of college guys were in the hot tub with us, each with an open beer. MJ came over to the side of the tub and went into obvious cannonball position. We hurried to stop her. "She's fiiiiine," one of the guys said, clearly thinking such a little tyke couldn't do much damage. Well, she was an expert by then, and she drowned everything: us, guys, beers, nearby belongings. "That's a good cannonball," he pronounced. Indeed.
