Day at the beach is no picnic, but moms go anyway
From my beach chair there on the sand beside the lake I heard you coming long before I saw you. Excited children's voices -- several of them -- with your momma voice of caution woven in theirs rose slowly above the quiet lap of the waves.
You soon appeared, you and your four youngsters. How you managed to carry all that beach stuff down from the parking lot is a good question. But you knew you had to do it in one trip because you couldn't ask those three who had already dashed into the water to watch over the baby in the carrier.
So you staggered onto the beach with the baby-heavy carrier, diaper bag, folding chair, umbrella, and two other bags of towels and lunch. The kids carried their own tubes and water wings and snorkel and sand pails. And that oldest son of yours manfully hauled the small cooler, quite a load for one still so young. He set it down next to you and was off to the water like a bullet.
You stood looking longingly at the waves for just a moment before you turned back to the most immediate needs. Umbrella out and pole in the sand, and the baby had shade, which you repositioned all afternoon long as the sun crossed the sky.
Your children couldn't have been happier. You smiled often at them. From somewhere you produced a camera and shot dozens of pictures, some of them candid, some of them posed with the kids mugging or splashing or jumping waves, hollering, "Mom! See this?" and "Mom! Watch this!"
You probably would have loved splashing with them all afternoon, but that littlest one needed you close by. You eventually threw a towel over your shoulder and nursed him, changed his diaper, and slid him back into his carrier. He must have dozed off, because eventually, after a careful check of the sun's position and his shade, you left his side. You glanced down the beach at me; I nodded and smiled. That must have been enough, because you headed for the waves and for the next half hour, played like one of the kids, despite the vigilant glances you often shot over to your sleeping baby.
Your water play came to an end when the kids started whining. They followed you to your chair and pestered as hungry little children will do. You calmly dispensed patience and correction as you opened the cooler and distributed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and apples onto paper plates. Bottles of water from the cooler were eagerly grabbed by kids as they sat down on their towels. You led them in a prayer on their food right there on the beach, and at "Amen" they chowed down those sandwiches, all except the littlest one who whined that there was sand in her sandwich. Her brother told her that's why it's called a SAND-wich, which didn't make her any happier, but made the others laugh. You calmly handed her your sandwich and chewed down the smashed one she traded to you. Apples gone, they headed back to the water; you picked up the baby, who had awakened and was fussing.
That was pretty much your afternoon -- watch the kids and tend the baby. Someone who didn't recognize the quiet contentment in your countenance might have mistakenly felt sorry for you. But you knew what they might not know: that a mom's enjoyment at the beach has little to do with the waves and the sand and the sun, and everything to do with watching the kids enjoying it all. Their happiness creates your happiness. It doesn't make much sense, unless you've been there.
Experienced moms just know that the daunting task of caring for little ones has a way of filling them up, even as it drains them. And that makes all the effort worth it.
You can contact D. Louise Brown at maven_55@yahoo.cm or leave a message with her editor at 801-625-4244.
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