Plucky Letters to US soldiers in Iraq

Wednesday July 16, 2003



Dear Rob,


How I Am Spending My Summer Vacation
By Mom

My brother-in-law and I decided, since he is working nights and I am working not at all (outside the home for financial rewards, anyway) that we should support one another in our child care duties. So Dave signed us up for a Family Pass to the Normal Parks and Recreation “Aquatic Centers.” (they don’t call them “pools” anymore- which means they can charge more.) His end of the deal was to pay the $80. My end is to take the kids to the pool at least three days a week so he can lounge around the house watching soap operas or catching up on sleep. I’d like it to be known that I volunteered for this because I did not want my much loved niece and nephew getting yelled at all summer long by a tired, overworked dad.

Just getting the passes was a logistical nightmare. We had to pretend we are married, change my name to Karen R., change Dylan’s name to Dylan R., and somehow not let Katie blow our cover with her big mouth. Dave foolishly took Ted & Katie with him upon initial sign-up. Katie kept yelling “Dylan R.? What do you mean Dylan R.??” Dave had to make up a convoluted story about a second marriage, the kids aren’t used to the idea, blah blah blah. (I wish I had been there- it must have been a riot.)

We had to have photo pool (oops, I mean “Aquatic Center”) ID’s to get in everyday, so they went ahead and had theirs taken. Dave told the Aquatic Center employees that I (his wife) would be in with our older child the next day to get our photos taken. Katie yelled, “Aunt Madge isn’t here now- she’ll come tomorrow with my cousin, okay?!” surely causing the Aquatic Center employees to suspect we are an incestuous family of trailer park dwellers.

The next day I coached Katie to keep her mouth shut when Dylan and I had to get our photos done. She, true to her word, said nothing. However, I had not thought of a small, but crucial, detail. They asked my name- I said “Karen R.” They asked my address. I don’t happen to know the R. family address off the top of my head. I had to frantically search my mind just to come up with the right street. If I do say so myself, I handled it quite well. I blurted out something like “1343 XXX Lane.” The aquatic center employee looked at her computer screen and said, “Oh, then this is wrong! It says 1308 XXX. I better change it.” I said, “Oh, yeah, that’s right, ha ha, it’s 1308, we, um, just moved here, ha ha…” She said “Well, then maybe this is…I don’t know…it looks like you’ve had an account since 1997…” Oh, geez. I mumbled something about “…blended family…second marriage… it’s an adjustment!” She took my word for it, luckily, and Dylan and I got our disingenuous photos ID’s.

So now the kids spend many blissful hours of fun at the pool while I drip sweat all over many books, magazines and newspapers. I never get in the water. I am embarrassed to admit I have actually begun to care about the evenness of my tan, and I have begun to recognize my fellow pool-moms. (Many of whom should be arrested and brought up on charges of Indecent Fat and Pubic Hair Exposure. You would not BELIEVE how many 200 lb white women believe it is somehow fashionable to flop around in a skimpy two-piece bathing suit while sprouting illicit body hair.) I find that I am enjoying having a new purpose in life.

Taking The Kids To The Pool is my summer job now. I’m actually pretty good at it- I never yell at anybody, even when they lose their goggles or dump blue sunscreen lotion on my first edition autographed copy of Julie and Romeo. I am always on time, since I want to be first in line to get a good deck chair position. I dole out small amounts of cash for snacks, but I never let them over-indulge. I am very good at watching Katie jump off the diving board, which is really the most boring feature of my new job. (She takes forever, and keeps yelling, “Are you watching?!” until I wave, despite the 30 kids lined up behind her saying, “Just GO!”)

Dylan and Ted are fairly self-sufficient, and it is fun to watch Ted walk around the pool. He is always on tip-toe. I don’t think either of his heels has ever touched pavement. Dylan always tries to get away with running, and I have to yell, “DON’T RUN!” at him until a helpful lifeguard comes to my aid by scolding him officially. I then look reprovingly over the top of my sunglasses and pretend I’ve never seen this child before in my life; any child of mine is obviously somewhere else obeying all Aquatic Center rules to the letter. I do a sort of “tsk tsk tsk” head shake and go back to reading my book.

You really need to finish up over there and get home to do something about your God-daughter, Katherine Nicole. She is honestly the most self-centered person in the world. (and she’s very funny, too.)

Today, when we were leaving the pool, I commented that I really prefer Fairview to Anderson. (Anderson is the “new” Aquatic Center, which we tried out today for the first time.) My point was that Fairview offers more deck chairs, more deck space, and more available shade. Katie said, to my face,
“So-what about YOU?! You’re not part of it, you’re just in the BACKGROUND!”
(obviously meaning that the world is all a stage, she is the star, and I am just some low-rent extra the director of the movie of her life threw in for context.)

This 7 year old child has also informed me that I will not be attending her wedding, which she says will take place when she is 21 years old, because I will be surely be dead by then. (Actually, when I asked her if I would be invited to the fabled wedding, she said, “I don’t think so! You’ll be dead by then!”)

I asked her if she planned to attend my funeral. She wanted to know if there would be food. I said that yes, I plan to offer a buffet at my funeral. She then wanted to know if she would have to wear pantyhose. I pointed out that she would probably have to wear pantyhose for her wedding. She said she is going to pick out wedding shoes that “only would need socks, but not pantyhose.” She’s not committing on the funeral thing- she’ll have to think about it. It might depend on the weather.

Since she will be 21 in fourteen years, I guess that means she does not expect me to live past age 54. So my new goal in life is to live long enough to show up at Katie’s wedding and say, “Ha, you little brat! I told you I’d make it!” Then I plan to have a massive grabber of a heart attack at her reception just to cause trouble. I am sincerely hoping she will be an old maid and not get married until she is on the verge of menopause. I hope she has to wear support hose at her wedding to hold in her varicose veins.

Much Love,
--Mom