Alligator Mama
It's a hot Saturday. So hot, the heat is hot. It's also Mama and Son day. He wants to watch cartoons and play on the computer. I let him stay in his pjs until after lunch. I do some laundry and piddle around until I need to just get out of the house for awhile. "Let's go swimming Son!" He's off to put on his Lightnin' McQueen bathing suit before his game is finished. No matter how much they say they love video games, I think swimming will always win out.
We live close to the pool. In fact it takes us longer to suit up, grease up, and get out the door than it does to drive to the pool. It's an older YMCA, and it is the same pool I remember from growing up. But a pool is a pool. There are only three other people there when we arrive. The water is almost still and looks cool so we jump right in. It's actually a little warm, but compared to the heat index, it'll do.
I float low in the shallow end of the Y pool. My legs stretch out behind me and my red tipped toes anchor me in place as the water swirls around. A big purple noodle holds me up, tucked underneath my freckled, tan-for-me shoulders. The water laps around my chin. The bill of a pink Auburn hat shades my face and Jackie O sunglasses. A swish of my hand turns me this way and that as I watch my son swim back and forth close to the rope that divides us from the swim test graduates. He's humming "We Wish You a Merry Christmas". It's almost 5 feet deep at the rope; at one point he starts to struggle and in less than a second, I'm there holding him up while he catches his breath. It reminds me of those alligators that are sitting lazily on the bank but off in a flash when danger threatens. It reminds me of the TV show where the alligator hunter spots one floating in the middle of the swamp. The camera pans over, and the untrained eye sees a log at first, then with the help of a great close up, you see the tip of the head and rim of his mouth. I'm an alligator* mama watching over her little one in the wilds of the YMCA "member swim".
*It may sound a little more lyrical to use the word gator, but I will never refer to myself, or anyone else in my family, as a gator.
We live close to the pool. In fact it takes us longer to suit up, grease up, and get out the door than it does to drive to the pool. It's an older YMCA, and it is the same pool I remember from growing up. But a pool is a pool. There are only three other people there when we arrive. The water is almost still and looks cool so we jump right in. It's actually a little warm, but compared to the heat index, it'll do.
I float low in the shallow end of the Y pool. My legs stretch out behind me and my red tipped toes anchor me in place as the water swirls around. A big purple noodle holds me up, tucked underneath my freckled, tan-for-me shoulders. The water laps around my chin. The bill of a pink Auburn hat shades my face and Jackie O sunglasses. A swish of my hand turns me this way and that as I watch my son swim back and forth close to the rope that divides us from the swim test graduates. He's humming "We Wish You a Merry Christmas". It's almost 5 feet deep at the rope; at one point he starts to struggle and in less than a second, I'm there holding him up while he catches his breath. It reminds me of those alligators that are sitting lazily on the bank but off in a flash when danger threatens. It reminds me of the TV show where the alligator hunter spots one floating in the middle of the swamp. The camera pans over, and the untrained eye sees a log at first, then with the help of a great close up, you see the tip of the head and rim of his mouth. I'm an alligator* mama watching over her little one in the wilds of the YMCA "member swim".
*It may sound a little more lyrical to use the word gator, but I will never refer to myself, or anyone else in my family, as a gator.
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| Earlier in the summer after a long and fun day. |
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