At the Seaside

We just came back from a short week at the beach.

My children, despite my efforts with sunblock, have glowing tans and sun-streaked hair.

As for me (despite other efforts), my natural aristocratic teint is now offset by patchy burnt accents on my cheekbones and forehead. Conveniently, I wore my sunglasses the whole time and now have a lasting memory of our vacation. Well, until the skin peels anyway.

I learned quite a lot on this trip, like how little sleep kids can really get by on or how good McDonald's coffee tastes.

Or after learning I was swimming all week with sand sharks that I no longer need to freak out and flash back to that innocent childhood time when I snuck out of bed and caught the last few scenes of Jaws when my dad was watching it on TV.

Also that body surfing is funnest when you scream as loudly as possible, and that being buried in sand is a great way to exfoliate with zero effort on my part.

I was stepping into the shower one evening as Rascal sauntered in. "Yaykit!" he exclaimed, then set about stripping down to join me.

"See, mumum? I have 'oobies." He pointed proudly. "One, free, seben, two 'oobies!" He included a bruise and mosquito bite in his tally. "Mumum too, 'oobies. Big 'oobies!"

"Yes sweetie, but please don't poke Mama."

"Okee. See mumum, my bum."

"Mm-hm."

"Mumum too bum. Ooh, BIG bum!" He started giggling.

I hollered for Husband who came and took Rascal out. I assumed he would dress him in pajamas but when I came out of the shower Rascal was wearing his trunks backwards and struggling with his water wings. Husband was taking advantage of the full cable offered by our swank little motel and paying no attention whatsoever.

"Swomming, mumum?"