At 25 degrees below my beach comfort zone, we trucked to the shoreline, our first afternoon on Lake Michigan not to be spent without sand.
The kids squealed as we took off their shoes and rolled up their pant legs “just in case.”
Parker took off full blast, laughing down to his knobby knees as waves drenched the rolls of his pants. The other kids danced around the water, debating caution and excitement but Parker ran at the shoreline full-speed, falling in the sand with laughter and getting back up to do it again.
I have never been one for adventure. You could not have lured me towards that cold water with wine or chocolate or chocolate wine. I freaked a little as my dare devil moved too far from shore and heard my mom-voice squawk at him to get over here for a chat about the waves and the wind and his little self.
Somewhere in the giggles of it all, in the joy of sand covered, water-weighted pants, I had a this-kid-is-trying-to-teach-me-something moment and I didn’t argue with it.
Life is soaring through his little body, the lightening bolt of it keeping him warm.
I stopped counting the spare sets of clothes I had packed and the amount of seconds until frostbite could set in. I gave in to his contagious laughter and let his energy barrel me over, wet sand and all.
Once teeth were chattering and lips were bluing we headed inside. I wrapped my little man burrito-style and he stilled for a rare few seconds in my arms.
I didn’t say a single I-told-you-so about his shivering state. He won’t remember the cold or the long whining walk back, he’ll remember the sun peaking through just enough and his feet in the sand and the giant-est wave he jumped and maybe even that minute on my lap.
He’s living this life just right.
I’m over at Childswork today talking about how to have a good relationship with your child’s school district, would love to hear your thoughts.
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