"When I raise my arm, that means I need help."

My 4-year-old is briefing me on her new safety protocol. We are in the shallow end. The water comes up to her ribs and her feet are planted firmly on the bottom.

"Got it. And when you raise your arm, what do I do?"

"You save me."

Over the next two hours she will raise her arm roughly 40 times, including once from the pool steps, fully out of the water.

We’re coming off a 5 day trip to Black Butte Ranch. Amazing location in Central Oregon (their tagline is, “There is a place” which I’d normally balk at but this place rules). We spent most of those days at the pool. Considering our roster included one 4-year-old who can't swim, plus twin babies who can't swim or walk (they can sort of… lumber about), it went surprisingly well.

I've distilled everything we learned into a guide.

Two adults cannot take three non-swimmers to a pool. The zone defense you run at home doesn't apply here. Every kid needs man-to-man coverage, because every kid is, in their own way, actively trying to drown.

You need at least one more adult, and ideally that adult is a grandparent, because a grandparent will hold a baby for four consecutive hours and later describe it as the best day of her summer.

Not once you "get settled." You will never be settled. Order it while you're still laying out towels. A bloody mary is breakfast, hydration, and a coping mechanism in one cup, and it pairs beautifully with watching your wife (from the line) try to get sunscreen on all three kids.

The twins’ positions on water could not be further apart.

One of them loved it. Lunged out of your arms toward open water, tried to drink the pool, furious about being held at all. The other one regarded the entire experience as a betrayal and spent an hour clinging to my wife's neck feeling personally wronged by the wetness of it all.

There's no preparing for this. You find out who's who at the water's edge.

The sign says “ages seven and up.” I said, “it’s fine.”

A lifeguard materialized within seconds.

"She has to be seven for the spa." He had frosted tips. I took my chances.

"She just turned seven."

He looked at my daughter. My daughter is a proud four. She holds up and wiggles four fingers when people ask her age, and frequently when nobody asks at all. There was a long pause in which everyone present understood each other perfectly, and then we relocated, with dignity, back to the shallow end.

Every public pool contains two 12-year-old boys with a Nerf football and unearned confidence in their arm strength. My wife took one off the temple while holding a baby. Which is absolutely devastating for a hot mom at a pool. Neither boy apologized, although one did say "my bad" to the other one (about the throw).

Dads peacock at the pool. Lots of standing at the water's edge, hands on hips, core braced, surveying.

There was also a teenager reading the Steve Jobs biography in the pool, holding it above the waterline, which I can only assume was a play to get vacation pussy. I spent my ten minutes of granted leisure reading Lonesome Dove on my Kindle, like a cool guy.

Eventually someone has to pee, and that someone must be escorted into the men's locker room while you pray, actually pray, that there is not an old dude strolling around completely naked and completely at peace.

You cannot win the locker room. You can only embody speed. Eyes forward, straight to the stall, and whatever she sees, she sees in a blur. Do not let her ask questions until you're back outside and then dodge them. 

One day we got two huge soft serve ice cream cones—my daughter's scoop hit the pavement almost instantly.

A younger-dad-version of me might’ve seized the moment to teach a life lesson, but earlier that day I’d seen this post on X and I was better for it.

As we packed up (a 40-minute process), a couple walked past with their 14-year-old, who trailed them at a ten-foot buffer with AirPods in. He had not spoken to them in, I don’t know, days?

They watched me wrestle two screaming babies into carseats while my daughter raised her arm for help she did not need. Their faces turned wistful. The mom leaned in as they passed.

"It goes by so fast."

Ma'am, I have been at this pool for eleven hours.

Thanks for reading! Hope you laughed. See you next time.

-Will

If you enjoyed this newsletter, please consider forwarding it to your parent friends. If this email was forwarded to you, consider subscribing to Parental Advisory here. Outside of this newsletter, I run a financial planning firm that pretty much exclusively serves millennial families with 1) variable incomes from sales or sales adjacent jobs and/or 2) concentrated wealth (usually from a lot of employer stock).