The Pool

I sit in dappled shade, paging through an Oprah magazine while my almost-4 year old daughter languidly floats around in the wading pool.  She talks to herself, calling herself by name, having a complete conversation with herself and when she catches my eye, she looks away, embarrassed.

I look up long enough to notice the sleek, tan, smooth bodies of the unselfconscious children prancing and splashing.  I note the pudgy tummies on display, belonging to more unselfconscious children.  The shrieks, the shouts, the laughter and the lapping and splashing of waves speak of carefree summer and pure joy.

The scent of sunscreen mingles with the odor of chlorine and the smell of the warm sun on cracked concrete.  Loose hair blown by happy breezes tickles my cheeks.

The children come bounding over, dripping.  Rivulets of water trickle from sopping hair and I say, “Don’t drip on me!”  Red raccoon-eye indentations ring my youngest son’s eyes.  His goggles were too tight.

“Awww,” he says, “But we only did one kid swim!.”

“We can swim tomorrow.”  I say.

But the days slip away, evaporate like splashed water from the aqua pool.