Last Hurrah

 

It was the last hurrah of summer. Just as well, because the size six-month swimsuit Nanobot is donning is a little snug. I mean she is two, after all. She's not the only one; all three of the girls have sprouted. Like weeds, I tell ya. 

It's two days till the start of Autumn, and 105 degrees. Natalie squeals and gives Jonah a mock push into the water, and he exaggerates the jump as he launches into the shallow end fearlessly. Just three months ago he only hung out on the stairs, always one hand clinging to the ledge. The old-mama-me would have spent the summer trying to coax him to deeper water, to blowing bubbles and practicing kicking. This year I was often found to be telling the big girls, "Leave him alone, he'll learn when he's ready."  The Bigs and the Middles are like fish, with nery a swim lesson or pair of water wings between them. Experience has taught me, he'll figure it out. 

Tessa holds a swim noodle on her nose. "Mama, what animal am I?"

"A Snuffleupagus?" I say in all seriousness.  

"Huh?"  she quiries, the reference lost on her. I never did my job there.  At least they know about Reading Rainbow, thanks to Netflix. 

 Guy puts a toe in the water and gives the temp a big thumbs down. He's not all that daring. While SharkBoy and DolphinGirl argue over whether or not mermaids are allowed in their game, Guy slips out to buy our Ultimate Sunday items. 

Once early in summer we asked everyone in the family what their ultimate sundae would look like. I took secret notes, recording the recipe for Adam's cookie dough ice cream sundae with caramel and toffee chips, along side my chocolate on chocolate on chocolate dream. Ice cream had been the way we welcomed summer, it seems only fitting for it's send off to be hailed the same way. 

Ellie wraps a blue lipped Nano in two towels and tucks her in beside me on the lounge, where she still fits snug as a little hermit crab in a newfound shell. Ellie asks me what time it is for the third time, squatting in the shallow end to keep away the chill of evening air from her shoulders. 

"Why do you keep asking what time it is? Are you getting cold?"

"I'm feeling done... but I don't want to be done," she laments, her ever-more grown-up practicality battling with the little girl she's probably leaving behind once and for all this summer. 

The sun's last glow lingers longingly, almost reluctantly over the west fence. 

We left the pool, closing it up for the night.  I didn't say it, but I realized we might not make it back over before the pool is quietly closed for the winter.  It always sneaks up on us.  We always think we'll go one more time.

When we got back to the house, Guy was waiting with his prized loot.  The kids were in awe.  "No way!"  Jonah was convinced that the entire container of ice cream was for him to consume alone.   He loved putting jelly beans and nerds on his sundae.

We had a ball.  An absolute ball.  Every one of us.

"I'm not ready for summer to be over," Ellie said woefully.

I hear ya, sister.

Thank you to sweet Betty, our neighbor, for sharing your pool and friendship with us!  You're the best!