For those who have read my book, you would know that my parents were very eccentric, and we traveled for most of my childhood. My most favorite thing to do was to stop at Miami Beach to play in the waves. Once a year. Visiting grandparents. Play in the waves, bobbing up and down with glee. I SO looked forward to this adventure! It wasn’t until I was grown up and driving myself that I learned that the state in which I live ALSO has waves. Go figure! A whole youth squandered on one beach thrill a year when it was only an hour a way from my own home.
Today, I took my kiddos to the beach, bringing my 18 month old granddaughter for the first time. Her chubby little toddler body had to be shoved inside a stretchy bathing-suit-with-a-lifejacket-built-in, in a method I suspect is similar to stuffing a sausage, pieces of it oozing out, only to be gently forced back into the casing. Once safely ensconced in her bathing wear, she made a beeline for the ocean. She may have tiny feet, but they sure run fast! She ran right in, and was shocked when the first wave came, knocking her gently on her little butt. It then became a game of chase the water out, turn around and run from the wave coming in. She kept trying to play in the water, but those darn waves kept coming back! Cold, bubbly, sand moving under her feet, waves. Finally, she got frustrated! She wanted to play in the water without being knocked over! She stood there with steely eyes, glaring at the water, and decided to take control of the situation. Strongly, and with determination, she shook her little finger at the waves and said in her loud toddler voice “STOP!”
AND LO AND BEHOLD…
they kept coming….
To read about my childhood adventures traveling the country, please purchase my book, The Apple Tree: Raising 5 Kids with Disabilities and Remaining Sane on Amazon.