Life's a Beach

As I sit on the beach smelling the saltwater and listening to the pleasing roar of the ocean, I have to wonder, is this a vacation or just a change of venue?

It’s the first time in 4 ½ years that the family has gone away together, all of us at the same time.

But, in three days, I’ve been to the food store twice, made macaroni and cheese once, omelets another time, and even done two loads of laundry – so far.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m thankful to get away. I didn’t book the beach house – my husband gets his credit for that. But it seems I’m still the one responsible for what we do, whether getting us to the beach, to take a walk, to the store, to order and pickup food (did that twice also).

I’m also still doing my regular work, and not just this column.  It seems as if I never really get a break.

My aim, at least for the two weekend days of the trip, was to just sit on the beach, soak in the sun and let my senses enjoy all that the beach and ocean have to offer. Of course, my son had two friends with him and my daughter had none (to her dismay our last minute vacation did not fit into her friends’ schedules).

My daughter does not possess the same love for the shore that I do. She expresses boredom when she has to sit in a chair on the beach. Of course, everyone insisted we leave the sand toys at home since at 18 and 13, the children are too old to build sandcastles and bury each other in the sand. I say, you’re never too old!

My daughter has, however, fallen for the ocean itself, and it was quite rough this week. It is fun to go far out into the ocean with our boogey boards and ride the waves toward the shore. She particularly likes the peak of the wave, at its highest, when she can see all and tower above all. She doesn’t wish to ride the waves all the way in, but instead just gain the vertical high.

My son and his friends, contrarily, choose to ride the waves to the shore. The bigger and rougher, the better. They spent the majority of the day – in between sunning sessions --  in the water.

My husband prefers the pool, and once he’s up to his waist, he’s done with the ocean and heads back to his chair (another similarity to my father).

Today, however, as they all tired of the beach, they retreated to the beach house, one by one, in an effort to give me my peace with the ocean. They left me to, as I’ve called it since childhood, “my ocean.” I sat in my beach chair, happily feeling the baking sun on my skin and the gritty sand in between my toes. As I turned page after page of my book, I took it all in with a huge sigh. There’s no place like the beach.

Reading is something I only get to do when I’m away. And after just a few short days, I’ve finished the last of one book and nearly finished another. I had about an hour of peace and quiet, able to tune out the wails of a nearby baby and the arguing of the couple under the umbrella a few feet away.

As I edit this with a glass of wine in hand and the rumble of the ocean a distant block away, I’m thankful for the opportunity for a few days away. I’m thankful for my friends who are caring for my dog and I’m thankful to my parents for all of the wonderful memories that have returned of our annual vacations at the beach.

But then the respite wanes as I prepare for tomorrow and the work I have to do while I’m here. I hope to squeeze in a family bicycle ride and a trip to the outlets before we return home.

So although a vacation as an adult is not the same break as when you’re a child, I’ll take it.