Pool Politics

I love the pool. Love, love, love. Even though it involves at least an hour of locating bathing suits and inserting kids into them and then another 30 minutes of sunscreen application. Then there's the whole, keeping them from drowning thing, all while responding to shouts of "Mom! Mom! Mom!" "Watch me!" "Watch ME!" "No! ME!" "WATCH ME!" Yeah. That part is a blast.

But when Washington goes all August on you (in JUNE no less, and what the hell? And by HELL, I do mean "HELL" as in the fiery depths...) there's no place to be but the pool. Or the beach, but whaddaya think we're rich? No. We can't afford the gas to the beach this year, much less the lodging at said beach.

So, we ensconce ourselves amid the cooling waters of the neighborhood pool. Mostly the baby pool for me. (BP for short.) I don't mind the BP. It has it's own little subculture.

There are the new moms who have slathered the entire contents of a bottle of Waterbabies on their 2 month old, then stuffed them into a UVA/UVB repellent ankle-to-wrist suit with a BIG floppy hat. Mom holds the baby in the water, while dad holds an umbrella over them (in case there are any dastardly solar rays that may sneak through all those other lines of defense). Dad is also manning a large camera, snapping pictures. Baby, so excited to be swimming for the first time since the amniotic sac, falls asleep.

There are the Guppies. The kids who roll and splash and frolic in the water. (My girls.) And the Delicate Flowers. The ones who stand in the corner with one single pool toy and shriek in horror if a tiny drop of water touches them anywhere above the shoulders. (My boys. Go figure, huh?)

There are also The Unsupervised Kids. These kids are usually too old to be in the BP anyway. Sometimes they are bullies, but they are not big or bad enough to bully in the big pool. So they pick on the toddlers. I love these kids. I have no patience for parents who let their kids terrorize the BP while they sit reading a magazine in some other remote part of the pool area. So, where there is a discipline vacuum, I am happy to fill the gap! I harrass them so much, they eventually slink away, grumbling about the mean old lady in the BP.

The most interesting thing I find about the BP though, is my status in the pool pecking order. Camping out at the baby pool is equivalent to having the plague.

I've been a resident there for many years now. Just about all of my friends have moved on. They come to the pool to read. And lie in the sun. And catch up with friends. Except me, because I am still stuck in the BP and have the plague. I have rated my friends on how willing they are to risk contracting disease.

There are those (and I'm sad to say that MOST of my "friends" fall into this category) who do not acknowlege me. They don't even look over in my direction. (Lest they be sucked back behind that 6 foot gate?) They know I'm there. They park next to my car. Their kids play with my older kids. But, there is no interaction with those of us infected.

The next category is those who will wave and keep a safe distance. They acknowlege my presence, but don't get close enough that anyone might confuse them with a carrier.

The final category are the true friends. The ones who don't care if they have to walk through germs and pestilence to say hello. On occassion... well ok, once, someone even pulled up a chair and SAT WITH ME! Yes! Sat right down in the midst of all that plague-y stuff and didn't even care who saw her. Now that's a friend.

My days in the BP are numbered. Little One should be renamed Danger Girl. She loves the big pool and tries to plunge herself to its cooling depths. And mGuy, my delicate flower, just realized he can now stand up in much of the big pool, so he is happy to hang out over there now. As long as no water touches his face, of course.

But, when all is said and done, I will miss the baby pool. (Although the thought of sitting and reading a magazine at the pool sounds... well... simply amazing. Is that really what I will get to do one day?) But the view from the bottom of the pecking order is quite interesting. On the other side of that fence, things just aren't necessarily so clear.

On other topics, how will I ever make it as a blogger when, as I am trying for the THIRD time to finish this post, my kid takes off her diaper and poops on her bedroom rug? Do other blogger moms have this problem? Do they only blog when their kids are asleep? Because I think I've pretty much decided that there will NEVER be a time in this house when everyone is asleep. Or maybe their kids DO poop on the rug while they are blogging and they just choose not to mention such unmentionables? Maybe I need to go to a blogging convention to figure this stuff out. (Or perhaps potty training Little One would be easier? Ok, not easier, but cheaper.)

And despite the fact that eww and *&%^&$%^#$@%$&, she's never pooped anywhere but her diaper, so this is progress, right? (I'm nothing if not falsely-hopeful.)

It's spring appointment time for Little One. First up today is the Foot Whisperer. More on him later. Suffice it to say, he is simply amazing. Later this week, the geneticist and next week, the audiologist. After that, it's the spa for mommy. Oh wait, sorry. I drifted off into a daydream there for a sec.

Now I must sign off to spruce up Little One's pedicure and find the next container of Chlorox wipes. (And Rocket Man, if you are reading this, YES, I REALLY, REALLY, REALLY cleaned it up well. And I will steam clean it before you get home. Really.)