In an ongoing effort to be totally just as cool of parents as sundry McPhies, we took our kids to the beach.
We’ve taken them before, but the boys were too young to remember so this will be their first memory of that unsettling feeling of receding waves ripping the sand out from underneath their feet and nearly dragging them out to sea. I remember going to the beach every year with my family, clinging to my dad’s enormous hand while the waves slapped against my chest. My kids loved it as much as I did.
Fluffatron can swim, but the boys are still in the very bottom swim class–passed over for promotion at last month’s progression day–so being at the beach was a lot of work and worry. But amazing!
And when everyone had crammed a sufficient amount of sand into their various crevices, it was time to go back to our friends’ house to transfer that sand to their shower drains and toilets. I pulled so much sand out of Salty’s nose before he slipped into a post-sun-and-surf coma. How could he live like that?
I loved coming into my own home the next day to that new house smell which we still have. I also loved scaring the crap out of myself walking past the dining room where I had set up a couple of pose-able skeletons at the table before we left. I bought them with the intent not only of using them for Halloween, but also of posing them around the house to freak out Kent and the kids as pay back for the many times I have found rubber dog poop in, say, the refrigerator or my bed.
The scream I let out passing the dining room skeletons as I shut off the alarm and started turning on lights was just a bonus.