I should not have been surprised how much my kids loved loved loved the beach we visited the other day. Donovan, for one, never gets cold (or too hot, for that matter, weird kid) and just loves swimming. It was actually quite nice in the water, and I wish I'd brought their boogie boards and life jackets.
Once I realized the waves were not going to whisk my babies away I let them swim to their heart's content. Okay, I let them venture out a bit, yelled when the waves came, and made sure one of my husband's strong young soccer players was keeping watch. This was his annual end of summer practice/picnic on the beach and we had a blast as usual.
Look, I swimming!
I taught them the "run away from the waves as fast as you can" game when they were two.
Might as well jump! Jump!
The beach was somewhere near Santa Cruz, and I'm pretty sure it was the same beach I rode my bike to in high school. Pretty impressive, huh? You'd think so, until you hear it took me 9 hours (yes, 9, not a typo) to get there from Saratoga - about a 30 minute car ride. We were preparing for a bike camp, and some professional riders who were friends of my parents offered to take us. I can't believe they never made one comment about how long it took, although they did wonder out loud, much later, how impressive it was we were able to ride that slow and not fall off. My husband, a bicycle racer himself, was barely able to hold in the laughter when I told him, and until I said it out loud it never occurred to me what an ungodly amount of time we took for that ride. Ah, the innocence of a 14 year old.
Next step, body surfing in San Diego.