Swimming

I walked through the door after my hour long commute, the closets were done, minus the doors, but hey it's progress. The room was otherwise undisturbed, the place looked ransacked, nowhere near neat and clean, so much for tiny and tidy.
My mother was hollering in the back yard, I stepped into the porch to find her giving Michael swimming classes.
Why would a grown woman jump into a pool fully clothed? This woman does not believe in bathing suits.
"Float, just like I showed you." She commanded.
He caught a glimpse of me out of the corner of his eyes and went into "mommy-is-here" mode. He splashed and kicked as she held him.
"That's not what I taught you." She looked up at me, "Your father wants me to give him swimming classes for an hour each day." As far as I know she wasn't a YMCA employee, classes and training and teaching and discipline where not her forte.
I sat on the swinging chair and watched him emerge from the pool. He was wearing a diaper, holding about 2 gallons of pool water with a cascade of water freely flowing down the back of his legs with each step.
"Mom, he has the Donald Duck ass!" The diaper bounced up and down giving him momentum towards me, he rushed to me and jumped into my arms, work clothes now drenched.
"Mom, you are wearing clothes." I asked, curious about why.
"By the time I go in, change, and get ready for the pool I just don't want to get in, so I just get in when I feel like it. Why?"
"No reason." Common sense, right? I lack it in this house, the sense running around here commonly was not the sense of sensible people in the real world, but living on Ronald McDonald's Retirement Center, I was voted out, 5 to 1.
I walked into the porch and grabbed the Swimmers diapers, my child needed to change before the pool turned into a cotton picking session, that diaper was ready to blow, and I was not about to go cotton picking.
Mike jumped back in the pool, my mom was in the middle of the shallow area, he was on the steps and glided like a swan to her, missing his mark by a foot, swimming like a rock, she grabbed him, he coughed, I waited for a naked boy to diaper.
She took off his diaper, "Ay shit!"
"What do you mean "Ay shit?" I stared at her as she held the diaper, now resembling a fluffy white pillow.
"He pooped!" She began scooping out dime sized balls from the pool to his diaper. I stood up, probably with my mouth wide open. The streaker ran around the pool, he was at the other end now with his toys, I dropped the swimming diaper and stood by my mother.
I pointed to the bottom of the pool.
"No, that's nothing." Said the blind woman.
"Look at it mom, it's poop. Look."
"No, poop floats, doesn't it. That can't be poop."
(Forehead slam against wall)
"Look around, do you think we are in a toilet. Of course it's poop. Hurry up, it's rolling that way." I pointed towards the deep middle part of the pool. "And I'm not getting in." I did a stand still jump, trying to show her I was wearing work clothes.
She hesitated, she didn't want to do it, I ran for the net used to take out leaves and bugs. I handed it to her.
Mike jumped in, yes I repeat, Mike jumped into the fucking pool, on the other fucking side, and I knew that my mother would never make it to that side. I ran and jumped into the other end of the pool, heels and all. That mother instinct does not play, you have no time to think at all. I grabbed him and sat him on the steps, "YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" I yelled at him, not knowing who to clobber at this point. I would have preferred picking cotton.
"I sorry mama!" My heart melted. How do they do that!