A Beach Trip
We’re trying.
I’ve never really been a water or beach person, but occasionally I find it nice. A lounge chair and a book here, standing in the water up to my waist there. I don’t love it like I see other people love it, but I can enjoy it from time to time. Tom is, of course, the swimmer. Better than all of us, he’s so good at it, you can’t help but expect some of it to rub off on our children.
Maybe not, though. We’ve been trying to get them interested, but it doesn’t seem to be working. Swim lessons, trips to the pool, a small kiddie pool in the front yard. We’re trying.
Recently we decided to take a mini vacation, spend some time outside, and it included a trip to the beach. If nothing else, both E and G love to dig in the dirt at home, so I figured they’d be excited to be given free reign at the beach to dig.
Apparently it’s not as fun to dig unless you’ve got your parents chasing you out of the flower gardens, though. For whatever reason, they weren’t psyched. G didn’t even really want to go in the sand. He spent most of the time sitting on my lap on a blanket. He was much happier watching trucks go by than digging in the sand.
E was slightly more interested, but he wouldn’t go close to the water. Neither of them would. It’s okay, of course - they could grow up to hate the beach and never swim a day in their lives, and I wouldn’t care. But I will offer from time to time.
Ducks, however, they like.
There were a lot of ducks at the beach, and after a pretzel there were a lot more. Sneaky little buggers who weren’t afraid of us, and liked to run up behind me to try and steal the kids’ snack cups. It at least kept things interesting - it was like a trip to the beach and the zoo all rolled into one.
Quack!