The end

I pressed my lips into Henry's damp curls and breathed in a tangle of sunscreen and chlorine. He had finally stopped shivering inside the red terry-cloth cocoon I'd created for him on my lap and I reveled in the momentary stillness.

We were sitting on the pool deck, drinking in the final moments of our last trip to the outdoor pool for the summer. I thought about how many hours we'd spent there since the season opened in May.

A slight breeze sent crepe myrtle blossoms skittering across the cement like tiny puffs of pink and white popcorn. Just beyond the chain-link fence, the Potomac looked like rippled navy silk under the steely overcast sky. The air was hot but lacked it's summer punch. It must be yielding to fall by now, I thought, it's Labor Day afterall.

Back in the pool in front of us, Calvin had established a trail: Up the steps, down the water slide, swim to the side. Up the steps, down the water slide, swim to the side.

I marveled at this boy who just three months ago didn't want to put his face in the water.

He'll start kindergarten tomorrow, but not before he learned how to swim.

I couldn't see beyond the lumpy mass of the polar-bear-shaped slide, where Liliana and a girlfriend were practicing their dives in the deep end with Nick.

I couldn't see my big girl's brown shoulders or the ruffles of her fluorescent swim suit, but I imagined how she might be shaping her arms like an arrow over her head, then piercing the water's surface with the ease and confidence she's gained in recent weeks.

Tomorrow she'll take on a new school, the second grade and Spanish immersion studies all in one overwhelming package. She's ready, I thought.

Time stood still for a moment and I considered what a great summer it's been. We tackled soccer and tennis camps, nature discovery, art classes at the National Gallery, a road trip, summer reading lists, movies, vacation Bible school, bike rides and the pool. I even managed to steal a five-day getaway to visit my parents. I don't think we stood still for a moment.

My reflections broke off when the lifeguards blew their whistles in a concerted signal for the hourly 15-minute adult-swim break. The kids clamored for the edge of the pool and I rounded everyone up for towels and flip-flops.

It was time to go home. There were burgers to grill, showers to take, clothes to lay out and lunches to pack.

Tomorrow is the first day of school and the start of a new kind of busyness. And it's the day we'll start referring to all of the sun-scorched days before it as "last summer." I know we'll remember them fondly.