The Swim

         Giggles invaded my nap.  The warm afternoon and the deepness of the slumber coupled to make my bedroom feel ethereal as I opened my eyes.  My glasses, just on the bedside table, would have cleared my vision but the dreaminess of blur was alluring.  So lovely to be drowsy, but . . .

         . . . giggles.  Definitely giggles.  That shook me into my world of grandmother-with-responsibility.  My glasses, now firmly pinched to my nose, brought the day into focus.  I swung my legs over the mattress and adjusting to the vertical position stood inclining toward the slightly open door, listening intently.

         I think I was hearing sloshing water.  “Ah” curiosity sated, “the bathroom.” 

         My two sweet granddaughters had pled “Mimi, please let us swim in our pool.” 

         I told them, “I have to sneak just a little nap and can’t have you outside while I’m not watching.”  They’re good girls and seldom ignored my requests, so they’d probably decided to take a bath.

         With gathering energy I walked down the hallway toward the bathroom on the left, but a quick glance inward showed sun through the little window over the tub, but no sparkle of water.  Oh dear.

         At the end of the hall was the door into my guest room where sounds of increasing volume demanded investigation. 

         I opened the door to see a hose snaked through the open window slowly flowing water into the jolly, blue-dancing-dolphin plastic pool wedged at the foot of the twin beds.  My six-year old was laying in it tummy-down, chin propped on fists watching the water rise up-close-and-personal, while her seven-year old sister held the hose carefully.  They looked up with glee and delight to share their cleverness with me.

         “Mimi, come join us!  You said we couldn’t play outside.”