Monday, July 30, 2007

Sand between my toes

Saturday I took my boys to the beach. I will have pictures someday soon. I left the camera at home in lieu of sunblock, juice boxes and an umbrella but dear sister captured much of the day on disc for their posterity.

Toddler E takes after me and thinks he is one with the sea. Despite his puny frame and pasty white skin (OK, puny he does NOT get from me. Or husband), given his hearts desire little man would have spent the entire day in the drink, wearing a soaked swim diaper that may truly have weighed more than he.Toddler J takes after Daddy and likes the beach in small doses interspersed with plenty of snacks and cold beverages. Just please don’t make him go in that damn ocean.

Hey, his first visit to the beach he hated the sand so much he tried to stand one on foot all day, so we are going to regard this as progress.

I love the beach. For those of you keeping score, a fellow East Coaster knows that anyone who calls it the “beach” is not from Jersey where they most definitely sit on the “shore”. A beach goer doesn’t buy a beach tag, or pay a toll, and definitely prefers her beer served alongside a nice plate of these. Chased by a trip here.

Where were we? Ok, so it is very important to me that my kids love the beach. My husband, who grew up in a landlocked, ocean-less land, can take it or leave it. But I grew up able to spend an entire day in the water, coming home salty and sunburned, hair a few shades lighter blonde than when I started.With the right chair, I could spend an entire summer on the beach and not miss anything, including TV, celebrity gossip, and fast food. Grotto Pizza notwithstanding.

I want that salt water to sink into my boys skin and become part of them like it is for me. Because when that ship of ours comes in, I want to be standing on the shore watching it arrive. And making it a permanent day at the beach.

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