Seashells, Sand and Deep Thinking

Day # 54

June18th, 2013

Team Zybko

I am totally a broken record when I say

I LOVE everything about the beach. I really do.

The smell, the feel, the sounds, the heat. I crave it all.

Even sand in the butt crack after a long day in God's sunshine gets me all jacked up. One day Baby Daddy and I will live at the beach. It may be on one of the grown kids budget and residency but the deal has been signed, sealed and agreed upon.

Whomever gets there first, we are tagging along.

K? K. Good!  

I have reached a season in motherhood in which I have more choices at the beach. To just sit is a big reality for me. The kids are past the age of breast feeding under a half wet towel, no babies shoving sand in their mouth like an afternoon snack or even one that needs help approaching the scary waters edge. I have to admit I become a bit of a lazy sloth these days at the beach. After applying sunscreen on the little ones I like to kick off my rainbows, plunk my big ole soccer mom rear on the sand and watch. A cold soda in a can, containers for the shell finds of the day and my Nikon all within arms length away. 

Ahhhhh.

I sit, I breathe, I think. I smile at the on goings of the family as I watch from a small distance away.

 I sit, breathe, I think....wait I already said that, yes it's true I do repeat this for however long I can. Don't judge me, it's my happy place. Sit, breathe and think, the warm sand is more than therapeutic slipping through my hands over and over again. I remain very, very still to ensure flying under the mom radar is successful. They don't even turn around wondering where I am....jackpot!    

Sit, breathe and think. The group of my loved ones become smaller and smaller with each handful of soft sand I pick up and release. They migrate along side the tide, all heads down as they search for the perfect shell. I won't be missed anyway. I am surely the worst shell hunter on the east coast. My eyes can't seem to spot the keepers. Ya know, the fully intact, beautifully colored, whole shells you ogle at and see in textbooks. Nope not me, I tend to spot and pick up broken, worn out shells with no names, similar to what a one year old would happily find and keep. 

   

This particular day at the beach, before staking out my spot on the sand I walk to the water for a quick temperature check. I had no intentions of letting the waves reach the bottom of my yoga pants but I was caught off guard. Too busy looking at my foot prints in the sand. My severely duck footed prints by the way. Well gee wiz I think as I smile up to the heavens, no wonder I am not a fast runner, I clearly wasn't built for speed.  After laughing at myself and my unfortunate children who received the duck footed gene problem I watch as the indention in the wet sand disappears. Erased quickly without much warning. With knitted brow I press my feet into the moist sand. Again and again, over and over the memory of my fat foot is gone right before my eyes.    

My mind spins in perfect rhythm to my coffee buzz, oh snap, these footprints are like our life. In the entire time line of the history of the earth we but a tiny speck, a grain of sand. Duh. Maybe a midlife aha moment or perhaps a clue I should have eaten breakfast to counteract the effects of so much caffeine. Either way my instincts are to create a home school lesson, draw a line in the sand, label it with important dates and in a matter of fact way explain to the kids. We are only around for a very small amount of time, make good use of it. Every interaction, thought and moment count. I look around with the light bulb still shining bright above my head.

I am out of luck, school is out, my class is already hundreds of yards away.