Sand Stays at the Beach

On an ordinary Friday morning we go to the beach for no reason in particular except that we can. 

We find a close parking spot in the neighborhood. We have graduated from the beach wagon and each kid carries a bucket filled with faded plastic sand toys and their water bottle while I carry a beach bag and towels. 

Our lunches aren’t fussy–their bento boxes are packed with the same circle sandwiches they eat on school days, blueberries, peanut butter pretzels, a couple grape tomatoes. I have a simple turkey wrap and treat myself to a Spindrift sparkling water that is now beading sweat.

The kids scamper off to scoop sand and return to drizzle soupy handfuls across my bare feet. 

“I want to remember this,” I think. 

I snap a picture of their faces radiant in the sun, but the shadows obscure their joy.  The glare on my phone’s screen makes their faces seem out of reach, and I wonder if my memory of the day will be obscured like this also. 

There is wisdom in paying attention. In finding the beautiful in the ordinary. 

There is pressure, too. 

Don’t blink or you’ll miss it! They grow up so fast! 

The gentle whisper, “I want to remember this” gets sharper, “You must remember this.”

It’s an ordinary moment turned extraordinary–the light just so, their laugh just so, the day just so.  I want to squeeze and savor it. But the moment starts squeezing me. 

And I’m snapping more pictures and grasping for phrases in my mind to describe the delight in their squeals and the salty sea curls at the nape of my daughter’s neck. 

I felt conflicted writing about this as an “ordinary” day at the beach with my kids. 

I know we have it good in San Diego with the weather and the beaches. I know we have it good with my part-time schedule and summers off. I know we have it good with two perfectly healthy, smart, and thriving kids. 

Sometimes the goodness feels oppressive. Like if I don’t notice it enough, give thanks enough, document enough, it will be ripped away. 

At the beach, I put down my phone and close my eyes. I scoop up a handful of warm sand and let it slide between my fingers. 

Maybe the moment isn’t meant to be captured. Maybe it’s allowed to slip away.

My kids run and splash, drop their sandwiches in the sand and eat the gritty bread anyway. I poke my index finger across my shoulder and watch a white fingerprint fade back to light pink; my signal to reapply sunscreen or pack up. I collect the buckets and shovels and shake out the towels. 

Back at the car, I peel the wet bathing suits off my kids’ damp, sticky bodies and rinse their feet with my water bottle.  

“Sand stays at the beach,” I tell them. 

I brush the grains off my own ankles as a pang of guilt washes over me. How can I be sure I’ll remember this ordinary Friday, these extraordinary days? 

“Sand stays at the beach,” I tell myself. It’s enough to know we lived the memory. I can let it slip away. 

***

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Ordinary Inspiration."

Ten Ways to Stop Being a Writer

1. Daydream ideas for a monthly newsletter.

2. Ask your graphic designer friend to create a logo for said newsletter. Send her pictures of color palettes and designs you like. Reiterate your love of green and growth and grace and…gag can we stop with the alliteration already?

3. Realize you need to update your blog/website before you can send out a newsletter. Start to edit the Wordpress site your husband made you for Christmas. Lament that the design he chose does not go with your new logo.

4. Get Covid and put everything on hold for 3-5 days that turns into 3-5 weeks.

5. Finalize a tagline: Grace-filled Growth. Alliteration is okay in small doses, right? Right?

6. Start re-designing your Wordpress site. Experiment with 1-7 themes, watch the first 30 seconds of 15 Youtube tutorials. Google “How to change fonts in Wordpress,” “how to find the blog posts block Wordpress,” “how to display all your posts on one page Wordpress,”  “how to save your sanity Wordpress,” “why is Squarespace better than Wordpress?” 

7. Curse your husband for not being a developer.

8. Curse yourself for not being a developer.

9. Yell at your kids because you worked on your website for 8 hours and it looks WORSE.

10. Sign up for a free trial of Squarespace. Look for inspiration from websites you love (looking at you Ashlee and Rachel). Repeat steps 6-9. Tweak and fiddle until the site is presentable only to realize you need to start all over learning Substack or Mailchimp to send out the newsletter you wanted to start to get out of your writing rut in the first place.

After “Ten Ways to Stop Being a Writer” by Daien Guo and the prompting of Ashlee Gadd

38 Things I Love About My Husband

…on his 38th birthday.

I love…

1. how you look—your strong hands and kind eyes, your muscled calves and tan skin

2. how you feel both soft and sturdy when I press my face against your chest, my head tucked under your chin, a perfect fit

3. how you show up even when you’re tired, nervous, and just-can’t-even

4. how you give generously

5. how you love a promotional, limited-time-only deal that hurts our wallet, but has introduced me to so many new things

6. how you plan our trips 

7. how you listen without trying to fix

8. how you are attentive to the needs and feelings of others

9. how you are always learning

10. how you pursue others despite insecurities 

11. how you can sit with nuance

12. how ticklish you are

13. how you give dada “nuggles” to the kids

14. how you find the best memes

15. how you’re steady

16. how you love Top Chef 

17. how you can read my mood with just one look

18. how you lay down your needs to serve others

19. how you plan date nights and research gymnastics competitions to attend

20. how you love live music–from crying at Sam Smith while we were dating, to holding my hand at a church orchestra performance as they sing America the Beautiful and Seasons of Love

21. how you’re always up for a concert or a spontaneous date night

22. how you dream about starting over in a new city

23. how you encourage me to pursue my own dreams

24. how you always text back right away

25. how I can count on you to pay the bills, get the groceries, take out the trash

26. how we share a love of Vuori and Richard Blais

27. how intentional you are with what we teach the kids about God

28. how you listen to me talk about my friend’s dating mishaps, what happened in mom’s group, what OCD thoughts are looping in my head

29. how you are the king of treats and lumpia

30. how you are patient with the kids and their whining and mess and delay tactics and oh the noise noise noise noise

31. how you will always finish the last bite

32. how you order too much food at a party because you don’t want anyone to go hungry

33. how you host and invite anyway even though it goes against all of your introverted tendencies

34. how you give grace to me when I’m hypocritical, judgmental, and irrational

35. how you’re getting better at showing up for yourself

36. how you don’t call me out when I let the kids do the very thing I chastised you for letting them do one day (hour?) earlier

37. how you don’t pressure me to share my feelings or figure out what I mean

38. how you are still the same humble and handsome and tender-hearted man I fell in love with eight birthdays ago

Inspired by Ashlee Gadd’s “36 Things I love On My 36th Birthday.”