People of the Pool

Our neighborhood dues are expensive, and most of the time when I see dead grass in the common area, or hear an annoying little yapper all night long I wonder what in the hell we are getting out of our money. But today the price seemed worth it.

The kids and I went to the neighborhood pool, we do it 5 to 7 times a week! In fact we kind of take it for granted that we can just walk 4 blocks and be at a very nice private pool with only our neighbors around to compete with for water space.

My sister-in-law was there, as she usually is, with her 4 kids, and we did what we usually do. But today I realized the community within the community. We often see the same moms, or dads, the kids that go to school with ours (the school is next to the pool by the way.)

This pool community is really quite fascinating if you step back and really look. You have your kids, big ones near the deep end, small ones in the shallow, those in between kids with floaties on their arms bobbing in the middle.

Us, the moms, sitting on the sides with our sunglasses and soccer mom visors discussing the best place to find an affordable swim suit and swim diapers that really work. We take turns yelling at our kids to stop splashing, or not to jump where it's so shallow.

The hours wind away as we laugh about our husbands never getting to that honey-do list, and pass around the spf 8 sunscreen (so we can still tan through it). We make each other feel better by talking about our stretchmarks and cellulite and reassuring one another that they are not so bad, you can hardly see them.

Undoubtedly there is a mom with a really young one shaded under a beach towel in her arms. She tells of her horrific birth story and we all try to top it. This is where we really feel proud of being a woman because, as we all agree, men could never go through what we do and still be able to walk upright.

The kids shout to us to watch them swim under water, hold their breath, front flip, and whatever else they have learned this week. Every few minutes a loud "MARCO" followed by "POLO" is heard.

Every single child in the pool tattle tales at least twice, and when they do we all roll our eyes and tell them to try and work it out on their own, (we got that from a book I'm sure.) When our youngest is showing signs of stress, and or heat stroke, we pack up the floaties, pool noodles, goggles, and soaker balls and the other moms wave us off.

Our oldest grumble about having to leave and beg for 5 more minutes, the younger ones are only seconds away from a melt down and a few are already well on their way to tantrum, but nobody minds because we have all been there. We are the people of the pool, all linked by chemical-filled water and an incessant need to talk with someone who does not pick their nose.

Today the neighborhood dues don't seem so bad.