Like most everyone else, weekends are somewhat sacred in our house. Unfortunately, too many of them get eaten up by errands, (other people's) birthday parties, commitment, and some silly thing or another so after spending Saturday doing my own thing, I reserved Sunday - for which the forecast was a warm, sunny day in New England - to do one of my favorite things: hit the beach.
It's getting easier now that my kids are getting older. At four and almost six, they can carry their own snack, (almost) carry their own mini beach chairs, and play together. Where a trip to the beach used to mean a cart load of stuff, eyes in the back of my head times two, and equal parts anxiety and fun, it's not like that anymore.
For me, the beach - especially the New England beach - is a safe place.
It's a place I can think clearly, whether I'm jumping waves or sitting in my chair staring at them. I can breathe deeply - I almost believe the sea air helps me sleep better (bottled beach air! just $19.99!). There's just something about a long beach day that equals luxury, decandence, relaxation. Especially after a long week at school and work. Especially when I'm surrounded by people I love.
We ended the day eating dinner while looking at the ocean in a nearby seaside town. We hit the candy store, walked with the throngs of early toursists, begged for ice cream and finally, fell asleep on the drive home, the sand still attached to our toes.
It was a simple day. A perfectly, simple day.
