If only there were a photo to go with this post...

I wouldn't be publishing it.

(Thank you for all the well wishes and prayers for my camera! I believe it's just the flash that's out, so hopefully the camera shop can fix it. In the meantime, I thought I'd share a little story that needs no photo. Or, at least, no photo would be appropriate!)

A few weeks ago we were cleaning up the backyard in anticipation of a playdate the next day. The kiddie pool was pretty gross. Leafy matter from a week's worth of windy days floated on the top, and the bottom was coated in a slimy film from the kids' muddy feet.

But before I could scrub it out and refill it, I had to empty a couple hundred gallons of dirty water onto the lawn. (Lest you concern yourself with wasted resources, I'd been watering the garden with the pool water for 2 weeks, and the lawn needed a good soaking!)

I let as much water out as I could by pushing down on the blown-up sides, and lifting the corner so the water could flow out the tiny valve in the bottom. But it was obvious I needed to leave my old leather garden shoes on the patio, and go in barefoot.

But what about my pants? My long jeans were also splashed, but I didn't want to totally soak them. Neither did I want to go inside with my dirty feet. And I didn't have any shorts that fit anyway.

Fortunately, it was a weekday morning. Our neighbors on the south are my parents, and my mom was over visiting anyway. To the north, on the other side of a 5-foot wall, are three apartments. The back apartment was empty, because our neighbors had just moved out. The woman who lives in the middle was at work, and the front neighbors were out, too.

So, I thought, what the heck. I took off my jeans and tossed them over a patio chair, leaving my knee-length apron over my blouse for modesty, and told my mom to be on the lookout!

Then I got to work, using all my strength and momentum to push and pull the sides of the 6' by 4' pool, slowly but surely sloshing and pouring the water over my bare legs and onto the grass.

The pool was almost empty when I heard a truck engine. A large maintenance truck was pulling down the driveway that runs along the other side of our north fence. It stopped in front of the empty back apartment -- directly opposite where I stood.

Oops. So much for weekday privacy.

I looked around, trying to figure out what to do. My mom was on the patio with my jeans, laughing at me, of course.

I figured that as long as I stayed close to the wall, the maintenance crew couldn't see below my shoulders. I carefully dumped out the last of the water, and propped the pool up against the wall in front of me.

Then I waited until both workers appeared to be inside, and quickly backed away from the wall and across the lawn, grabbed my jeans, and walked backwards up the steps into the house, my mother and I giggling the whole way.