It was one of those scenes that I could have imagined being in a movie…

The camera pans around the hotel pool, skeptically smaller than everyone gathered pictured in their minds after carefully reviewing the photos on the hotel website. The sign on the door reads, 15 people max capacity. A quick headcount lets the viewer know that the sign has been ignored. It is February, a fresh layer of snow blankets the ground outside, but inside, the air is thick with the smell of chlorine and the sound of children excited to be swimming.

In walks a young mom, wearing sneakers and a turtleneck sweater as a coverup, carrying a toddler as her partner follows behind, holding the hand of a slightly older child, wearing a suit to match her sister’s. Coordinating outfits left little room to remember appropriate pool shoes and coverups for mom. Packing for the pool in February can be tricky. Soon, this family is navigating the other pool goers, finding space for the little ones to jump off the pool’s edge, over and over again.

The next to arrive is an older couple. The woman is wearing a hotel robe and her loafers. She scores extra points for thinking to wear the hotel robe as a cover up. Turtleneck mom should take notes. They settle into some chairs on the pool deck, taking in the scene. Did they realize that the hotel pool on President’s Day weekend would be crawling with children? The hold hands before disrobing and braving the water.

Has anyone noticed the boy who entered fully clothed, only to have his dad help him shed all his winter layers before Dad inserted his Airpods and tuned out the entire scene. The boy makes his way to the pool stairs, where he loads his imaginary gun and systematically takes out all of the other pool occupants, one by one. Pleased with his work, he splashes around, before climbing back onto the steps to go through his target practice again. His dad, never looks up.

Then there are my kids, sticking together, trying not to get in anyone’s way…except when they attempt handstands and nearly kick everyone around them. They reemerge, eager to lay eyes on one of their sister’s and then back to me, silently making sure we’re in this together. I’m seated, wearing my winter gear, boots and all, grateful that my kids’ are all independent swimmers. I’m taking in the scene and resisting the urge to snap photos, but making mental notes of all the important details.