Growing Old At The Neighborhood Pool

Sitting by the pool today reminded me how much time has gone by since I first became a mother (over 20 years, but who’s counting?). Our pool is a magnet for the younger-kids crowd, and “younger kids” usually means younger (read, less jaded) mothers. As I sat there eavesdropping on their conversations with their children, all I could think was “Did I ever used to sound like that? Really?” Here are my poolside investigations into the language development of mothers:

Young Mothers: “Would you like the lemon ice or the strawberry ice, sweetie?”

Jaded Mothers: “If you’re going to fuss about getting lemon again, I’ll eat that Italian ice myself.”

Young Mothers: “Use your walking feet!”

Jaded Mothers: “Stop running or the lifeguard will kick you out for the rest of the summer.”

Young Mothers: “Tell that boy you don’t want to share your shovel.”

Jaded Mothers: “Stop crying over a $1 toy, for heaven’s sake, or I’ll give you something to cry about!”

Young Mothers: “Use your words!”

Jaded Mothers: “Please, for the love of God, stop talking!”

Young Mothers: “Do you want me to play with you in the pool?”

Jaded Mothers: “Did they fill this thing with ice cubes this morning? Go play. I’m still trying to get through last week’s New Yorker.”

Young Mothers: “I’m glad I wore my bikini. It’s a great tanning day.”

Jaded Mothers: “God bless the person who invented the super-Spandex tankini with the skirted bottom. Once I get that leg vein surgery, I’ll be all set.”