Ken and I happen to travel quite a bit for our work. Recently, we were sent to give presentations
at the coast—a good six hour drive from our home. It also happened to be our weekend with the
munchkins, so we threw them in the car with us and took off for one last summer
adventure.
Imagine my surprise when I find myself having the following
conversation with two crabby preteens:
Me: Okay, we have
reservations to ride the sand dune buggy at 4pm. So that gives us a couple of hours to eat and
play on the beach.
Princess: Why do we
have to wait until four? (Wait, imagine
her words again, but MUCH whinier than you did the first time.)
Me: That was the
earliest spot they had. Other people
have reservations before us.
Epiczord (collapsing onto the table in front of him): But I don’t want to go to the beach.
Princess: Yeah, why
do we have to go to the beach?
Me: I’d like to go
there and try out the new kites.
Epiczord: I don’t
want to fly kites.
Princess: We don’t
want to go to the beach.
Me: We drove six
hours to the coast and you don’t want to go to the beach?!?
Princess: Why can’t
we just go shopping?
At this point, you could have knocked me over with a
feather. Every day of summer, I would
ask my mom if we could go to the beach. It’s
all we talked about during the school year.
It’s what you did in southern California.
You woke up, packed a lunch, grabbed the beach bag, played
all day in the sand and sun, and got hosed down in the backyard afterwards. How could I possibly have two kids here who
didn’t want to go to the beach after driving in the car for six hours to get to
the coast?
I’d love to say that I handled it like Mary Poppins and
cheered those kids right up with a song, but I handled it like me and got
pretty pissed. There may have been some
words thrown at them about gratitude or lack thereof…and demands for their very
reluctant apologies. Then I announced,
“We’re going.”
The gloom attitude followed us all the way there, until we
actually walked on the sand and saw the waves.
Within one minute, the beach worked its magic. And it is magic. The beach has power that must be experienced. You slow down. You look at things. You dig.
You shout and squeal. You laugh
and splash. You discover. You relax.
We collected shells, dug in the sand for sand crabs, flew
the kites, and listened to the gulls and the waves. Within five minutes, the Princess stopped me
and said with a huge smile, “Thank you so much for bringing us here. This is awesome.” And it was.
It’s hard being a parent.
It’s harder being a step parent.
I never quite know when to push and when to hold back. Yet, Ken and I are realizing more and more
that we actually know a little something about life and how to have fun. And sometimes, the kids are just going to have
to trust us. We’re going.
