Don’t Ask Don’t Tell

Nolan is in a daily swim classes for the next MONTH. I drive thirty minutes each way for a thirty minute swim lesson with the lady known as the “Swim Nazi.” (Ironically it is the same lady I took lessons from when I was a little girl.) My thought in making this commitment is that I am ready for Nolan to be done with swim lessons. There is NO WAY I can handle two dependents in the pool so it is time for Nolan to knock this out of the ballpark! “Whatever it takes” is my motto!

There are five other ladies whose children are in the class. We are not allowed to watch the Swim Nazi teach our children so we are held captive, so to speak, in a little waiting room, sitting on benches… that face each other. So what do six women do while they wait? We chat of course! We are now in week two of the lessons and I have gotten to know these ladies fairly well. At this point it seems like we have talked about everything.

One of the ladies is actually the nanny for one of the boys in the class. She usually sits in her car during the class, but today she decided to join us in the little waiting room, on the benches, that face each other. It was like she was fresh meat and we had thirty minutes to kill. We all threw questions at her left and right learning about her plans for college, how she celebrated her recent 21st birthday (while she listened to us each give her advice on various wines to try), the family she works for now, a beach vacation with her family that she just went on, so on. Isn’t it amazing how much ground six women can cover in thirty minutes?

Somehow the conversation steered towards her talking about the last family she worked for. She described this mother in a manner that made us all moan and groan and think she had to be voted Worst Mother of the Year. We all agreed she made the right decision to leave that home. We talked about how sorry we felt for her two children to have a mother who seemed so uninvolved and detached from her kids. And then this nanny said, “Oh and I forgot to mention, this mother is a THERAPIST!” The mothers  simultaneously erupted into conversation. “That is just so typical and not surprising” one said as she rolled her eyes. Another said, “Therapists are the worst. They need therapy more than anyone.” “I SOOO agree” added another mom. And I….. well, I said nothing. I instantly froze and thought to myself, “What do I do? What do I say? Oh please I hope they do not ask me my thoughts or even WORSE do I work and if so, what do I do?” Griffin was a great distraction in that moment. Thank goodness women talk fast, because as quickly as that conversation began, we moved on to something else.

What is bad is there are three more days in this class and there is a really strong likelihood that I could end up with these ladies for Session #2 that starts next week and goes for two more weeks. Every. Single. Day. For thirty minutes. In a little waiting room. On benches… that face each other.

So Mom when you take Nolan to swimming on Thursday and the ladies ask where I work, do me a favor and just say I work for an insurance agent. That is safe, right?