It’s officially summer. July didn’t feel like summer, because I was on the camp, summer school, sports camp, swim lessons rat race. I hustled kids from here to there following a typed schedule to remember who had to be where and when and whether they had to wear their special yellow camp shirt or shin guards. In down moments, I worked on a research paper. The last lesson ended Monday, and my work is on hold as surveys trickle in.
Now, it’s summer.
This morning, we went nowhere, and it was great. The kids played in t-shirts and underwear for hours. Trains, cars, Yugioh cards, Connect Four, books. The same book on tape, Thomas and the Rumors, was flipped over and over. I made the kids’ beds for the first time in four weeks and cleaned the windows, which are covered in dust from the ongoing house painting. It was very housewify, but that’s what kind of mood I’m in today. The house painters are making the place look so great that it is inspiring me to tidy up. I’m not sure how long this Martha mood will last, so I’m going with it.
Yesterday, we went to the town pool, which is always crowded with families, plus a small group of seniors who gather their chairs in a circle and avoid eye contact with the kids. Circling their wagons as the Indians attack. There’s a baby pool, warm as always, with a slide and fountains. There’s an intermediate pool for the bigger kids who can’t swim yet; that’s where we hang. And, of course, the big pool.
For all those who say that there’s no community in suburbia, come to the swim club. Here, we see at least a dozen familiar faces who come over to chat about teachers for next year, vacation plans, and school supplies.
There’s a snack shack to get burgers and ice-cream. And a playground for the kids when they tire of the water.
You can amuse yourself by seeing the infinite variety of bodies and the impact of child birth on a woman’s stomach.
Or you can laugh at the teenagers as they strut and preen. My favorite wears Paris Hilton sunglasses and sports a hang over as she sits in the life guard chair. Not much confidence that she’d be the first one in the water if my kid was floating face down. Then there Mr. Whistle, the 16 with the Napoleon complex. Now, where would I love to shove that whistle?
Sounds great, right? Nah, I’m bored as hell. Sure it’s fun to splash around with my kids in the pool, but then what? I really want to read, but it’s not like you can read the Times at the pool. Newsprint on a wet bathing suit? I can’t concentrate on the New Yorker or the New Republic with Ian occasionally taking off to check out the divers. Besides that kind of reading material would blow my cover. Everyone else just sits back in their folding chairs and gazes off into the distance. Relaxing is just not my strong suit.
It’s summer — boring swim clubs, lazy mornings in underwear, cleaning projects and all.
Well, my mom has taken the boys for a couple of hours. I’m going to post a couple of links and sign off for the weekend.
Apt. 11d 
Funny, sounds a lot like our pool club here in Israel. About the reading — you’ll get there in a year or two when the kids are older — if they can swim. That’s what made two and a half years of shlepping to swimming lessons worth it — both the kids are such strong swimmers, I feel OK taking my eyes off them.
And as far as the reading material goes — the pool and beach is a great place to lighten up. A little “New York Magazine” or chick lit won’t kill you.
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