Last week, my mom came over as usual on Friday afternoon. It had been beautiful all week and really warm. There was even an excessive heat advisory that will make you Midwesterners laugh: it was going to be 94 degrees for two days in a row. Mom, being the smart lady that she is, brought three swimming suits with her in a small black embroidered purse. She knows we have an alligator pool we like to inflate when the temperature rises.
Mom headed outside after lunch and pulled the pool toward the middle of the yard, next to the adirondack chairs. Mom is not one to make her needs or desires known so when she asked where the pump was so she could fill it up with air and then with water I moved quickly, smiling all the while. Like any woman who hasn’t worn a suit in years, or even a season, she tried on all three before she settled on a cornflower blue. We sat out together in the hot sun while the kids played with cups in the cool water. Within minutes my 20-month old gave up on splashing his sister and came over with cupfuls that he poured down my legs. “Mommy turn, Mommy turn,” he said, in his husky voice, as the chilly water ran down my knee and over my foot.
It only took a few minutes to get hot enough to want to stand in the pool. When the kids exited to play on the slide Mom stood and then quickly sat down and dunked her body in the pool that was just a few inches deep. It was enough for her. It had been at least 15 years since she’d put on a bathing suit and sat around in the backyard on a hot afternoon.