Today I accomplished something that I have been wanting to do for a very long time. Or at least since we moved to Florida.
I was able to sit on the beach completely by myself.
Well, not completely. There were the usual suspects around me: the fishermen, the pruned-out 40 year-old-woman who looks 60, the teenage girls in bikinis looking only how teenage girls can look in bikinis. (Yet we as women painfully yearn for that dream and work our asses off, quite frequently in vain, in our efforts to turn back the clock .)
No, I wasn't completely alone, but what counted was that I didn't have the responsibility of running after a deranged Maggie.
"Taking a one year old to the beach," my husband, Chris, explained, "is kinda like being on the edge of awesomeness. We are right there, but soooo not quite."
The responsibility of corralling a child whose only fear (apparently), is that of a terrified gecko on the handle of the shopping cart at WinnDixie, is quite a responsibility.
It's a piece of cake when she sits and plays with the sand and shells. The problem is that this lasts for five minutes. After five minutes she is tearing off into the surf hoping to take a dip. It sucks for her that this is the ultimate no-no for a 17 month old.
Calvin was easily bought off to sit at home with Maggie and watch Yo Gabba Gabba. Chris had taken Wesley down yonder on the beach and I sat on my little beach towel not really knowing what to do with myself. It would have been nice to have remembered to bring a book.
Because I am reading no less than six at last count ~ plenty to choose from.
I then decided to sit and watch the surf while taking deep breaths. Whatever ions were there, I was going to make darn good use of them for an hour or so. Perhaps this would help to bring down my blood pressure a little bit, which apparently is high-ish again. According to my new doctor, or rather, the blood pressure machine in my new doctor's office.
I tried to concentrate on chillaxing, but I couldn't get "Waking Up In Vegas," out of my head. Not a very relaxing or chilled out song.
I tried to adjust my internal soundtrack to Handel's Water Music, quite apropos whilst sitting and gazing out at the wide expanse of ocean.
But that stupid Katy Perry kept interrupting the horns and oboes of "Allegro," or "Air," or whatever movement I was forcing into my head.
I laid back and observed the clouds. I was enjoying the sun, the warmth and the sound of the ocean that people pay actual money for via sound machines and/or CD's.
But the sand was terribly uncomfortable and my back hurt. Shiz, I had laid down and I honestly didn't know if I was going to be able to get back up again. I felt a bit like a beached whale, belly up. I probably resembled one, too.
I wriggled around in the sand (inconspicuously, as to not draw attention to myself) trying to make a groove. Sand MUST be like Tempurpedic material, right? I would attempt to make an indentation of my body to eliminate stress points. Totally worth a try if done inconspicuously.
I laid back and watched an airplane fly south over me. It flew above the clouds and was red and blue. Southwest? It wouldn't make sense, because this is the Southeast. But you never know.
I speculated the jet's destination. Orlando? Miami? Cuba? Do they even fly planes into Cuba? Or is it just the United States that has a beef with the country? Maybe it was a Canadian jet.
I don't know and probably won't ask my husband because it is probably a question that will reaffirm his belief that he married left of the bell curve.
My "alone time" was becoming boring. I was ready for a burrito. Or the company of Chris. Both would be fantastic.
We returned home and I returned refreshed and somewhat rejuvenated. At least I felt as if I could be pleasant to those around me which was definitely not the case before we left.
I returned having learned the lessons to a.) bring a book to the beach, b.) leave the 1 year old at home.
Tomorrow we are going back and I have the luxury of neither.
Chris suggested we take the Pack-N-Play to set up in the back of the SUV so she can nap. But I am completely icked out contemplating the sand that permeates EVERYTHING at the beach and the implications of cleaning the bed when we return home ~ a task that will inevitably be left to me.
We'll figure it out.
I'm just delighting in the fact that it is 90 degrees and there is no possibility of snow. Not even an faint inkling.
I'm not going to miss it; not after days like these.