Who Needs Sunshine?

The forecast was dreary, and the high temperature seemed to drop each time we checked the weather.  Still, we had an annual beach streak to continue and a little basket of sand toys in the bed of my dad's generously loaned truck.

We ate before going, so that we only needed to pack snacks and drinks and chairs and toys and magazines, and seriously, the list kept going even without bringing "real" food for lunch!  Amanda and I optimistically threw on bathing suits but made sure we had some warmer layers tucked away.

We scored prime parking.

I've never seen the South Haven beach so empty, seagulls outnumbering the people three to one, in a blanket of white over the sand.  Down the beach a little, a bride and groom were having pictures taken, her dress billowing around her in the wind.

The highest temperature we saw on the electronic ticker was 60 degrees, with an air temperature of 58.

Dylan held my hand as he walked across the sand to our little beach camp, unsure at first about the little grains sliding into his Crocs.  A smile crept across his face, and his steps became more confident, though his grip on my hand never loosened.

Inexplicably, the sand was still warm on our feet, and the cool, slightly damp air meant Abbey didn't have to lug water from the lake to build her little sand castles.  Ryan and Joe tossed a football in their shorts and t-shirts, while Amanda and I pulled sweaters and jackets over our sundresses and wrapped our legs in terry towels.  

Zippered into sweatshirts but bare-legged, the kids played in the sand, laughed on the swings, and didn't notice the lack of warmth or water or sun.

Chasing seagulls with Abbey and Dylan, I marvelled at their innocent ability to find the best in situations, to enjoy each moment, to play on a cold beach and squeal with contented, excited laughter.

We were there less than two hours, but our streak is alive.

sand toys are always a hit 

Dylan pointing at the seagulls - or Daddy throwing a football

Amanda looking cute with our soon-to-be-newest beach club member incubating nicely 

look at that throwing motion! 

so proud of her "little castle" that she made without any help 

I think he only tried eating it once or twice

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Because You Can't Control the Weather

We don't mess with our annual beach plans.  Honestly, it's one of my favorite weekends of the year.  Joe and Amanda are the best host and hostess, and it's always a fun time.

We've had some iffy weather forecasts (boo) and some unexpected bacteria-prompted beach closings (eew).

Yet, somehow the weather cleared up, and we found another (clean and beautiful) beach to spread our blankets.

The weather isn't looking too, too promising, but we're undeterred. 

Keep your fingers crossed that we looked more like this on Saturday:

 than this

oh yes, that's Dylan's bathing suit over his pajamas

Abbey insisted, and he didn't care 

I don't know where she got the idea that she had to try on her bathing suit to do her pretend grocery shopping

I certainly don't don my bathing suit at the grocery store!

Through Their Eyes

Sand!  The RemembeRED prompt this week had to do with sand, and with vacation on my mind, and sun outside, I couldn't help adding this to my "must-do" list!

Tawny grains, countless, clung to the tops of my feet and the spaces between my toes, and I dreaded the moment my mom would insist we bathe our feet and legs at the junction between beach and oven-like concrete.

The little silver spigot spit out water, always ice cold, that chased away the sand and bits of seaweed marking the hours we had spent splashing in the water and crouching in the sand, building intricate moats and canals surrounding rudimentary castles.

My feet seemed naked and cold in my childhood sandals without that armor of sand keeping them warm, and I didn’t understand why we had to chase away the remnants of the day with that icy water.

The mystery of my mother’s fascination with the ritual cleansing revealed itself years, and countless beach trips, later. I am the one finding and cleaning bandit grains of sand for days and weeks after spending a day at the beach.

I live in a state surrounded by a multitude of water, the Great Lakes State, but I used to scoff at our beaches, wishing we could be back in Hawaii with its exotic lava beaches or Mexico with its soft, fine, sugary sand.

Abbey has never been to Ka’anapali Beach or Playa del Carmen or Tampa or Cape Cod or any of the exotic locations found on the Travel Channel.

But she knows that as the seasons change and the last vestiges of daylight peek through her black-out curtains at night, we begin to plan our annual trek to the west side of the state, or as she calls it, “going to the beach with Uncle Joe and Aunt Amanda.”

Dylan has never known a time when his parents and their friends could throw some beer and food into a cooler after a long, late night and spend the day alternating between lounge chairs and beach towels, breaking the routine only to toss around a football or wander down to the water to get some relief from the heat, tentatively exposing heat soaked skin to still-cool lake water.

But he knows the shade of an oversized umbrella and the peals of laughter that announce his sister’s return from the water’s edge with another sand pail filled with a mixture of water and sand to try to make castles and shapes near the beach blanket.

They have never known the stinging pain of too much sun on their shoulders. Lathered and sprayed and covered and shielded, yellow beams of sun bring only heat and warmth and maybe a need for Hello Kitty sunglasses.

They have never known the anxiety of swimsuit shopping, scrutinizing their bodies from every angle and finally just hoping that fabulous sunglasses will make up for the multitude of faults, real and imaginary that are seen in the mirror. She only knows the joy of a princess bathing suit pulled tight over the childish roundness of her tummy. He only knows the satisfactory thumps he can make by smacking his little palms against a belly finally left uncovered by a onesie.

Watching Dylan squint happily in the sun, looking quietly up at Ryan, I forget about the pounds and pounds of gear we precariously pulled over the sand and will have to pull back.

Watching Abbey run forward in glee, then dive headfirst into the sand, rolling around until she’s covered, I forget about the grains and grains of sand I will have to rub out of my lip gloss and spit out of my lunch.

Watching them, I forget about the feeling of not-good-enough I felt when I put on my bathing suit. I enjoy Amanda’s deliciously crispy, homemade pita chips and baba ganoush and appreciate that my body is alive and strong and able to cradle Abbey in my arms when the water is too cold for her to walk.

Watching them, I bury my feet in the sand, letting it cling to my skin, and I don’t wash it off as we walk to the car, instead letting it dry in the sun and slide silently back to the ground.

though originally a RemembeRED prompt, I'm linking with Miss Elaine-ous MondayI need the reminder a little lately and maybe it will strike a chord with you, too