Summer Beach Days

Sand was everywhere! It covered toes and the folds of rolled up pant legs. Going to the beach in Washington State didn't usually call for a swimsuit, or did it? As a mother of six kids, the investment of bathing suits is sometimes similar to snowsuits. I wish we used them more, but we usually didn't.

"Let's got to the Cape George beach." This was our first attempt to go to the beach. I forgot about practical things like looking at tide times. It was a crazy low tide. The kind of low tide where a super a rocky beach smooths out into sand bars with mini lakes and streams. It was the kind of tide where kids could not imagine not finding the edge of the water, but to get there, they must cross one of the mini streams and not get their feet wet. The water was far too cold for that.

Isaiah, two years old, cried out "Hand hold." It was the first summer he really understood that touching this little stream would be like a cold version of bath time.

All the older kids pretended I wouldn't notice they were up to their knees in sea water and making pretend paddle boards out short, flat, well weathered pieces of drift wood.

"Get out of the water!" I cried, but seriously it was too late! We were going to be going home in wet clothing.

"Joel told me I should go to that rock," Dominic insisted that his nine year old brother would push him to the rock if he had not ventured in himself.

"I am wet," Bria appeared. Was she wet from water or was it pee? Who knew at this point. As a three years old, she usually kept things under control, but this water mark didn't look like the water wading type.

Was it time to pack up and go home? I wasn't sure, but I was ready.

Attempt two at the beach took place. This time we brought a picnic. The beach was covered in interesting, chopped up white shells. It was a small beach, where the water funneled between Marrowstone Island and Port Hadlock like a stream with gentle rapids. A tall green bridge towered over us. We set up a picnic and broke open a bag of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. A man fishing nearby gave the kids a lesson on how to catch fish and through them back without killing them. My oldest perked up with questions.

Nobody got wet that day. The water moved to quickly and the assortment of clam shells were more interesting.

We got to right under the bridge, that was more like a floating skyscraper to six much smaller people and maybe even two slightly taller adults. Then the perfect sand turned into jagged basalt. Black chunky rocks were more of a hazard. They could harm children. Our walk was cut short when super careful Isaiah slipped and scraped his hand. I scooped him up in both arms, carried him like a football, and attempted to dip the scrape in the fresh cold salt water. He wriggled, screamed, and I wished could just let him walk to the car.

A lot was learned through trips one and two. First, bring some food! Prepare for water, sand, and kids falling on things.

Trip three to the beach was the most civilized. I knew my kids would get messy. We packed a bag of spare clothing. The one item we forgot was a change of underwear for all. I highly recommend bringing everything.

The sun beat on my shoulders that were covered with a thin denim jacket. It was hot when I was fully covered up. To the kids that meant, lets wade into the water as far as possible.

"I know we brought back up clothing, but can we try to stay somewhat dry," I begged the kids. This lasted about two minutes before my oldest daughter, Ellie (8 years old), soaked herself mostly to her waist. It was as if the spare clothing was a ticket to get drenched. Swimsuits called for swimming, right?

It all began with jumping waves, as one might jump rope. Of course the kids will want to swim. After all, we did actually go to the beach. It was not Hawaii, but it was warm enough to get a little bit wet.

I took a deep breath. It was just sand and salt water. For the first time in weeks, everybody in my family was happy!