When he went off to college, I was only 11. I guess you could say we weren't tight. So when he called so many years later and extended the invitation for the beach vacation, I felt like Sally Field when she won the Oscar, and she got up on stage and said "You like me! You really like me!" We went.
Soccer Boy in his Speedo (sorry)
We have stories. Memories. The time we went to the restaurant and realized, in the middle of dinner, that we were one child short (he was downstairs back at the beach house, asleep). The time I was pregnant with Soccer Boy and refused to get back in the car after a rest stop in Milwaukee, 90 minutes from home, with 16 hours more to drive. The time we went crabbing and Uncle Moker got bit when he was showing the kids the "right way" to take a crab out of the net. He shook his hand violently, and the crab hung on. Blood flew all over. The kids may have learned a few new words that day!
Reading on the beach. Getting sun poisoning, and an itch so bad it just could not be soothed. Having ice cream on the Boardwalk on a hot summer night. Then going home to walk the beach with flashlights and look for ghost crabs. Boogie boarding. Eating crab. Eating more crab. Buying T-shirts to wear 'til they wore out and we went back the following summer to restock. Sitting on the beach with a bucket of Rocks (Rolling Rock, from Latrobe, PA, for the uninitiated).
Floating in an inner tube and watching dolphins, then realizing I was too far from shore and unable to get back in alone. Being towed back to shore by a cute young college boy in a yellow kayak. The walk I had on the beach with my oldest just last summer, when he confided in me that maybe getting married in the fall might not be a good idea.
And Cornflake Monster. But you have to wait until tomorrow to hear about that!