Every summer my friend Tara and I have grand plans to take our kids to the beach at least once a week. Last year we only managed to do it once. Booo. This year, Tara has taken her kids to the beach several times, and when she invited us along I declined because I either felt too ginormously pregnant, or just didn’t quite have my footing with James’ schedule. Last week I finally decided “schedule, schmedule” and made plans with Tara’s family to bring all of our kids to the beach.
With six kids between us we were immediately thankful that Tara’s husband George was there with us. Six wouldn’t normally be hard, but with two of them being babies (Tara’s baby Cait is only 5 months), it definitely was necessary to have one adult dedicated to just the older kids, especially when both babies wanted to eat at the same time. I was wearing James in a wrap 90% of the time, which was great for some things at the beach but not awesome for digging holes in the sand, running after kids, or going in the water. Luckily, George excelled at those things.
The weather didn’t look great when we first arrived, but it felt wonderful. The Santa Monica Mountains separate our town from the ocean, and also act as a temperature break. It was twenty degrees cooler at the beach, and since I was wearing a baby and (still) having periodic hot flashes, I was in heaven.
The kids did not care about the fog one tiny bit.
I took James out of the wrap to nurse and stretch out. I said, “James! It’s your first time at the beach! Aren’t you excited?”
Not so much.
I was excited, though. I had a wonderful time sitting under my umbrella with James snuggled up against me. It was great to be able to talk to Tara, breathe fresh air and be out of my house with both of the kids.
I need more of these lazy summer days.