Beach Bumming

I hate to work on Fridays. I know most people hate Mondays, but for me it has always been Fridays. I would gladly work a 10 hour day Monday thru Thursday if it meant I could have Fridays off. When Tom and I were first married, we couldn’t afford to take vacations, and Tom was an independent sales person so he did not get any vacation time. I was incurring vacation time at my job, but I couldn’t go anywhere with it so I chose to take Fridays off during the summer. I loved those Fridays. I look back on them now with such longing.

Tom worked a lot of hours back then. He would work until very late at night and on occasion started work early in the morning. I was pretty much on my own most of the time. I would sleep in on my day off. After waking up I would take Murphy for a walk. This was my only form of exercise back then. I hadn’t found my passion for running yet. After a long walk with Murphy it was off to the beach. I grabbed a bottled water, book, music, towel, and sunscreen. I was fortunate to live 45 minutes from one of the most beautiful beaches around. I spent my afternoon lounging in the sun and working on developing what would later become “suspicious sun spots”. But hay, I was young and skin cancer was not even a thought in my mind. Not in the minds of the hundreds of other people at the beach either. After an afternoon of soaking up the sun, I would head back home, shower, and then grab my scrapbooking things and go to my favorite scrapbooking store for a night of preserving memories. It was an added benefit that a dear friend of mine worked at the store. This way I was able to spend time with my friend and work on what was then a serious hobby of mine. Around midnight I would arrive back at home and in complete bliss over my practically perfect day.

I don’t have those Fridays anymore, and my trips to the beach have changed considerably. Back in the day I could be ready and out the door to the beach in a matter of 15 minutes tops. Now, 13 years and two kids later a trip to the beach is a major undertaking. On beach days there is no sleeping in. Actually there is no sleeping in on any day. Rather then take Murphy for a walk, I bypass that and set right to work gathering up everything a family of four could possibly need for one day at the beach. It’s a little something like this: hot dogs, buns, ketchup, mustard, grill, 4 bottles of water, 2 juice boxes, 2 cans of diet coke, chips, cookies, fruit snacks, frozen yogurt tubes, paper plates, napkins, plastic utensils, whole roll of paper towel, trash bags, sunscreen, 4 beach chairs, 1 Frisbee, 2 boogie boards, 3 softball gloves, one softball, 8 beach towels, 1 beach blanket, 2 pair of goggles, 1 beach ball, 2 water guns, 2 foam noodles, 2 inner tubes, 1 inflatable teeter- totter, 1 bag of sand toys, 4 bikes, 2 bike helmets, and one roll of toilet paper- just in case. Have you seen beach bath houses? You will notice that there are two things missing from this list that were a staple in my younger days, a book and music. Hmm, yah, enough said on that.

It takes a couple of hours to gather up everything and get it into the back of our vehicle. It looks like our family is headed out of town for a week long vacation rather then a day at the beach. We make the drive to the beach and drive around the parking area forever looking for a close parking spot because Tom is not walking “five miles with all that stuff.” After finally finding a reasonably close space we set out on the task of emptying the contents of our vehicle. Of course the princess daughters arms are “full of stuff” after we hand them one thing to carry. Once we finally get to the beach and unpack all our belongings, it is then a constant stream of demands. Will you play catch with me? Will you take me in the water? Will you blow up my inner tube? Did you bring my goggles? Will you blow up the beach ball? Is there anything to eat? I don’t feel like hot dogs. Didn’t you pack me a PB&J? I want to play on the teeter totter. Can you blow it up? Can you help me make a sandcastle? Can we go on a bike ride? It’s important to note that this all occurs over the span of the first 15 minutes.

After a few hours at the beach, the daughters are ready to go home. Tom and I must begin the daunting task of packing up all our contents which are now scattered all over the beach for as far as the eye can see and haul them back to our vehicle. The daughters then hop in the truck followed by Tom yelling, “Don’t get in the truck until you have cleaned the sand off your feet!” The daughters respond by saying, “Ooops.” Every time this happens. Every time. Why can’t they remember to clean off their feet? They can remember that 4 years ago I sold a pink sweater in the garage sale, but they can’t ever remember to clean their feet after a day at the beach. This is followed by a rant from Tom on how it is impossible to keep his truck clean. Welcome to life with kids. You mean you still haven’t figured this out.

Needless to say by the time we arrive home and unload the truck, I am not feeling complete bliss from a practically perfect day. Instead I am collapsing into bed completely exhausted and wondering why we put ourselves through such torture. But, we all know we’ll enthusiastically set out to do it again in a few weeks.