a beach- goers passage of rite

As a girl, after hours of jumping salty crashing waves, handstands under water, going surfing and all the other joys of the ocean I often found solace and comfort in my mama’s multicolored striped cloth beach chair.  I would sit all cozy wrapped in a towel shaken free of sand, handed a cup of juice or a slice of watermelon, lips all purple and shivering despite the warm summertime sun and it was lovely.  All the mom’s had them.  They sat in their chairs and chatted while us kids ran wild.

I have yet to go out and get such a chair.  I can’t say why exactly.  I suppose it’s because I am a product of playing at the shore.  If I can’t swim underwater with my eyes wide open spying out fish and shells and legs of unsuspecting people than what am I?  Really.

So these days, regardless of my adult status, and despite denying my  boys of the memory of such a seat, I claim freedom from the confines of a beach chair.  Delightful they may be, I am not ready for this giant step in life.  No, for now I will use it as an excuse to shake and bake for a just a tiny bit longer.  (you know where you go in the water and then roll around in the dry sand)



the livings easy

To say things have changed in the way I do a beach day in the past few years would just be an understatement.  Looking on at a couple of girlies sunning with nothing but a towel and a book in tote made me quite reminiscent.  Oh those days.  Those days where I would stumble to the beach with out so much of a thought about lunch or snacks.  With a foggy mind from previous nights fun.  With hours to kill and nothing really on my plate but just sitting in the sun, floating in the waves, and a couple of good laughs.

No need to go into detail of all the junk that’s brought along these days.  I still consider myself a beach minimalist (not talking about swim wear of course) but even so the equipment these days does require a carrying mechanism.  Now there is a giant picnic basket to be filled.  And of course the ever-growing bag filled with beach toys.  And what feels like gallons upon gallons of sun screen.

So yes.  I stared at those lackadaiscal ladies just baking in the sun with a little sadness.  Sadness that my days like these are long gone.  For now at least.  Sadness that my Lee and I would only be indulging in a saturday afternoon after beach beer across the street if we could somehow lull our little men into a slumber in the stroller.  Sadness that leaving the beach I may have to endure a fit.  And most of all  sadness at the fact that I knew better than to even bring my current read.  There is no reading with a one year old and a two-year old on a day by the shore.

But then my little man ran up to me and grabbed my hand.

The four of us headed down the wet packed sand directly to one of the single most enjoyable moments of my whole entire life.  We waded into the sparkling sea, tossing our boys up over the rolling waves.  I washing machined them.  I let them crawl onto my back and we walked like lobsters.  We dug for shells with our toes.  We did everything I could think of that makes the beach spectacular when you’re a kid.  And you know what?  It still is spectacular.  Probably even more so.

I remembered I never really was much of a beach sitter anyways.  I have always been more of a beach do-er.

And I had the kind of day where I wish I could live forever.

I belong with you, you belong with me, you’re my sweet heart.

Besides, getting boys to sleep after a day playing at the beach is a cinch.