The Beach

So, you’ve probably read some silly blogs about moms trying to get out of the house on time to go someplace. Or you’ve been a mom trying to get out of the house on time. I’m here today to tell you about one of those moms (me) trying to go someplace (the beach).

I have to admit that going anywhere with two toddlers in the summer is usually a lot easier than going out in the winter. You have a lot less clothing to deal with, and, it just seems like you can pop everyone in and out of the car with seamless ease and grace. That is, unless you’re going to the beach. I am not sure how much crap is reasonable to take to the beach, but I’m thinking they should have a weight limit at the entrance, just like they do at airports with baggage. That way you can tell your kids, “Sorry, guys, just Mommy’s beach chair and a towel can make it through this time. Maybe next trip we can bring your fifteen buckets and seven shovels.”

Harrison started the morning off this way:

Harrison: Mom, can we go to the beach now?

Me: No, it’s not open yet.

Harrison: There’s no gate. We can go anytime.

Me: Crap.

I did my best. I did. When I went to get Harrison dressed, he suddenly had a strong aversion to bathing suits and refused to wear his swim trunks. I assumed it was because he is new to the underpants thing and wanted to wear them. I was going to even compromise and let him wear underpants beneath his swim suit. That didn’t fly. So the kid was going fully clothed to the beach. Worse things have happened.

When I asked him to put his shoes on, he kept asking which was his right and which was his left foot. I knew it didn’t matter what I said because he was just stalling. He then decided to take his left shoe off. Seven times. SEVEN TIMES.

During Harrison’s valiant attempt to either A) learn to put his own shoes on, or B) drive me insane, I was dressing Ella. Naturally, once I had her all ready to go, I smelled the smell. And there we go, having to change her diaper. It happens anytime we’re in a three foot vicinity of the door and within five minutes of leaving the house. The kid likes to last-minute-poop.

Although my child was finally outside the house, I knew I wasn’t in the clear. He was standing on the front step, looking around as I buckled Ella into her seat.

“Mom? Where are we going?”

I turned around in complete astonishment. The child who couldn’t wait to go to the BEACH, who packed his toys to go to the BEACH, who didn’t want to wear swim trunks to the BEACH was now asking where we were headed.

“The beach. We’re going to the beach.”

“Oh. Do I like the beach?”

“Yes, you love the beach.”

“Did you pack me apple juice?”


“Do I like apple juice?”

Had my son suffered short term memory loss the moment he left the house? What on earth was going on?

Once we were on our way to the BEACH, Harrison requested his apple juice in the car. I was not surprised to find out that he would have preferred to have his juice in a cup instead of drinking it out of a straw from a pouch but luckily this turned out to be a learning experience. On the ride over, Harrison demanded I explain exactly how straws work. I made a measly attempt at explaining atmospheric pressure, but I think it was lost on him.

So the next time you’re wondering why a parent is late, you can assume he or she put someone’s shoes on a half a dozen times, changed a few diapers, explained some scientific theories, and probably packed a lot of good snacks (including apple juice) before leaving the house.FullSizeRender

Author: livefromtimeout

When I'm not refereeing my two children, I like to workout and drink wine. But not at the same time. Teaching happens to be my vocation and my passion.

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