Nostalgia.  It’s the only word to describe what I’ve been feeling lately.  It’s intense. Overpowering even.  It has brought me to my knees on more than one occasion.

Since I’ve had kids, the local pool has always been the standard of time for me.  The measure of where my kids are in terms of independence and growth.  It seems like just yesterday my friends and I were walking around with our little ones; moving from sand box to kiddie pool to slide, keeping our eyes on them and making sure they were safe. Starting our days early at swim lessons knowing we would stay through lunch and beyond.

Those summers seemed endless.  We had over 15 kids between us; energetic offspring always asking us to get in the pool with them.  (“But why do you even GET a new bathing suit each year if you never go IN??”)  We watched them during tennis lessons; feigned interest in their jumps and dives, their chalk drawings and sand castles.  We counted the days until school started.

And then a couple of years ago I could suddenly sense it.  The change had been so subtle and gradual that I had barely noticed.

We were in the Sweet Spot.

This gaggle of kids of ours had become independent enough to be on their own, yet still little enough to want to be with us.  We moms sat around on lawn chairs chatting and sunbathing, only seeing them once an hour or so when they came to get money for the snack bar.  We relished our adult time and basked in their kisses and hugs.  They didn’t need us to follow them or open their juice boxes. There were no games to direct, no toddler squabbles to referee. No teenager attitude or drama to deal with yet.  It was just sunny days and Friday night pool parties and Sunday afternoon family kickball games.  It was the storybook definition of summer and parenthood.

I knew there were few more summers that things would be this way.  I was brutally aware. I told myself to slow down and look around.  I wanted to appreciate and enjoy this small moment in time. And even though I knew it would end, I still wasn’t ready.

Are we ever really?

The other day my oldest was feeling sentimental and told me, “Mom, I don’t want to forget things.”  Oh, buddy, I hear you.

I won’t forget the summer we moms made a pact that we were going to wear bikinis, gosh darn it;  we didn’t care that we didn’t look like those hot moms who strutted around so confidently.  And we did.  And we lived.

I won’t forget the summer the dads decided to revisit their high school talents and form a rock band and perform poolside.

I won’t forget that every July 3rd we would bring cupcakes to celebrate my little one’s birthday.

I won’t forget that the first dad to get in the water was inevitably the “lucky one” who had to swim with 6 or 7 little girls clutching him and each other resulting in a huge human float.

I won’t forget the year “Call me Maybe” was the song of the summer.

And I will certainly not forget the disappointment of finding out the pool was in a “dead zone” for Jimmy John’s delivery.

I’ve been holding on to their childhood by threads. But this was the summer.  It finally arrived.  The big kids didn’t want to go to the pool anymore. Nobody played Gaga ball or made sand castles. Sports made it impossible to have Friday night pizza.  And quite honestly,  I’m not sure my body could have handled a kick ball game. This was the first year my daughter didn’t care about bringing cupcakes for her birthday.  We’ve wondered aloud if we will even join the pool next year.

My big one only wants to play Fortnite and hang out with friends. My little one will still indulge me occasionally, but that’s fading fast. They rarely, if ever, play together.

It went by so fast.  How many times have we heard that?  Why is it that the first five years seemed to last forever but the last five years have flown by?  Just when it’s getting good it morphs into something else.  I miss my babies.

These little girls that were 3 and 4 are now 10 and 11. In one year, the big kids will be in high school. I look at the “young moms” chasing their toddlers at the pool and wonder how that was me not so long ago.  How many more years will summer mean the neighborhood pool for us? Are there any?  Was this the last one and I didn’t pay enough attention?  It takes effort to live in the moment.

The Sweet Spot is officially over.  That’s what I learned this summer.

And gosh it makes me sad.