The Most Fashionable Grandmother

I was at the City Parks & Recreation Aquatics Center with my daughter and toddler grandson the other day.  Upon my soul, I could never understand how a grown woman — I  mean, an intelligent, educated, cultured, dignified woman– could make such a spectacle of herself at the pool!  Mercy!  You never saw such bobbing, twirling, jumping, crawling.  You never heard such laughing and singing!

For the life of me, I could never understand this — that is, until I became a grandmother and became that spectacle.  My daughter, now six months pregnant with her second child [a girl], takes all this in stride and watches Benjamin and me, as she sits on the side of the pool.  If I were not playing with her son in the pool, I am rather sure she would be mortified at my antics.

. . . Sigh . . .

. . . I try to imagine myself as one of the serene parents or grandparents, “watching” my  kids, from a safe distance, while lounging in a deck-chair [shaded by an umbrella], reading from a Kindle, and talking on a cell-phone . . .

. . .   I try to envision myself as one of the more “fashionable” mothers or grandmothers, showing up for Pool Duty wearing:  a pristine “bathing suit” that will never get wet, expert make-up, coiffed hair, jewelry, and perfume . . .

. . . Sigh . . .

And me?  I show up for Pool Duty, fresh out of the shower, wearing tousled hair, sun block, lip balm, a faded Speedo swim suit and Speedo Vanquisher optical goggles.

No make-up, no coif, no jewelry, no perfume . . .

I’m a 59-year old grandmother and it’s “Tot Time” in the “Activity Pool:”  I’m with my two-year-old grandson and, for two hours, Benjamin leads me back into the world of childhood wonder and play, as I follow him around the pool.

We pretend to be Kangaroos or Alligators or he rides on my back and I’m a Bucking Bronco.  We laugh after I scoop him up,  when he stumbles and “bobs” his head by accident. We cheer in triumph, when he “bobs” his head on purpose.  I help him float on his back and we twirl around, faster and faster, until we are both dizzy. We sing nursery songs, as he sits on the side of the pool. He jumps into my arms, on cue:  “London Bridge is falling DOWN!”

. . . Sigh . . .

. . . . I may not be the most fashionable grandmother at the pool but I am pretty sure that I am the luckiest one.