The night didn't start off particularly well. Neither of the boys ate their dinner. They wouldn't sit still. They wouldn't stay quiet. They didn't show any signs of wanting to make good on our plans to go to the beach after dinner, scampering around the back yard, cranky, tired.We corralled them. Swimsuits were donned. Beach stuff was packed. The van was loaded. Off we went to Kimmel Beach. Wait, we missed the turn. Okay, now we're on our way to Kimmel Beach. Just have to find the parking lot. No, this ain't it. Aaaand, here we are. Suddenly it all turned. Everything from then on was pure magic.
Kimmel Beach is just secluded enough. Not a ton of people go hunting for it, especially in the evening. But there are enough people that you don't have to be entirely paranoid about sharks. The big benefit, though, was the feeling that the four of us had about an acre of beach to ourselves. Easy to let them have fun. Easy for them to splash without collateral stranger damage. Easy to keep an eye on them at all times.
And the keeping an eye on them part was the best. Colin tried to jump over waves (funny). Addison rode the waves in his life-jacket (a little fun, but scary). We all got to watch a bunch of guys doing some kind of boarding . . . not wake boarding or paddle boarding or boogie boarding . . . I want to say water boarding, but I know that's not right. Anyway, we saw guys riding small surfboard type things right along the shore, and it was fun.
Then we ran up and down the face of a mini-dune a dozen or so times, taking breaks to watch the sun think about setting as we caught our collective breath. So much fun. So much sand trapped in places it had no business hiding. So much relief not even carrying around a camera.
After dusting off as much sand would agree to dislodge and changing into slightly drier clothes, we got into the van and Colin laid these pearls of wisdom on Heather's ears: "Thanks for going to the beach, Mommy." For a two-year-old kid, that's like a 500-word essay on how much he loves you.
We were so going to Dairy Queen.
So we got ice cream. The boys sat still, but not in a boring way. Just in a "Heck, yeah, I want ice cream" way. Maybe there was a hint of, "We're so content, why in the world would we cause trouble?" in there as well. Addison danced to a smooth jazz version of "You Wanna Be Starting Something," but never left his seat. Both boys were quiet. It was pure magic.
The only real tension of the night was between my sensible side and the side of me that makes decisions. The conversation went like this:
Sensible: Just get a cone.
Insatiable: (Dirty look)
Sensible: Fine, get a small Tagalong Blizzard. Those are really good.
Insatiable: Medium. Final offer.
Sensible: Come on, look at your stomach! You're lucky I'm letting you have a small.
So while my Sensible side curled up in a bruised, broken ball of shame, I enjoyed the medium Tagalong Blizzard and the most enjoyable evening of the year. (Don't get me wrong, the Blizzard wasn't the highlight, but like I said, I didn't bring a camera. {Okay, forgive me . . . I really like the Tagalong Blizzard. [Alright, Sensible and Insatiable are back at it again, so I should just stop typing.]})
Thank God for simple pleasures.
