Last month we took an impromptu trip to Chesapeake Bay. I’ve never had to pay to get onto a beach before, so excuse me if I’m still a bit perturbed. And by beach, please know that I am being incredibly generous. North Beach is in a part of Maryland I can’t remember, just over an hour’s drive from DC. The sand has so many rocks and shells it’s impossible to walk barefoot. The water is green gray and smells like fish. I stepped in it up to my ankles and that was a feat. And did I mention we had to pay? I was livid. Pay to go on a non-beach? Just because you throw down sand and put it next to the water doesn’t make it a beach. And it damn sure doesn’t take away that nasty ass smell. I smelled Old Bay for two days after.
But! I was with family and the kids were happy, so that made the price, the smell, and the shells stabbing my feet worth it.
Seriously, my boy charmed everyone there with his pirateness. Hat? Check. Map? Check. Ship? Check. Eye patch? Check. Telling other kids not to climb up on his ship? Check more than once. Aaaargh, me maties.
The one you’d least expect to allow herself to be buried in sand was the one who offered to be buried in sand. Wonders never cease.
And the water. It smelled but its beauty wasn’t lost (when you looked straight, far away, and saw nothing but water and sky).
My happiness this day was so extreme because it was easy. It was an easy day, no one was fighting, it wasn’t too humid, and we enjoyed each other and were just happy to be together. My mother- and sister-in-law and niece were with us. It was simply one of those “let’s go” days. I can’t think of much better, or more happiness-inducing. And it’s still summer. I cant, and won’t, ask for more. Not yet.