On Tuesday, M'hijo and I caught the bus down to the beach to meet up with Sahsez and about 100 other kids from her school, who were spending the day there. Prior to this, I had complained to various people (my spouse, my friend) about why they needed to spend the day on a beach that you have to drive or bus to, rather than just walking the five minutes down to our local beach. Well, once we got there, I realized how much more suitable the far-away beach was. So much more nice white sand, better playground, better grassy area, and a concession.
The Envied Lunch
I hadn't packed Sahsez a lunch and so the first thing to do once we arrived was find her (digging in the sand) and buy us both some food. Then we sat down to eat with everyone else. There were a lot of mums there! I felt like it was a bit of overkill to pack chairs, since all the kids would just have their towels, but some people had not only chairs but big tupperwares full of food and beach umbrellas and a crazy beach tent called a JoyMan. I wouldn't mind one of those, I'll tell ya (I'm sunophobic), but I think you need a minivan, or at least a car, to transport it.
I felt a little bad about all the jealous looks, whining, and begging that ensued when Sahsez started eating her hot concession lunch among all her home-made lunch-eating cronies. Heavens knows I am annoyed when some other parent makes my life difficult by constantly filling their kid's lunch with Lunchables, potato chips, and sugary drinks while my poor little waif is forced to munch on carrot sticks and tuna sangies and drink plain water. But this was a special occasion. Surely we're entitled to be the ones with the envious lunch at least a few times in our lives, aren't we? I never had anything anyone else would covet in my lunches as a kid, and I'm not passing down that legacy to Sahsez. Tough tamales, other kids!
Inappropriate Reading Material
I'm reading Lolita right now and naturally brought it along with me to the beach, thinking that I might just steal a few moments of reading time at some point during the day. I didn't consider the possible weirdness of reading that particular book while in the company of a bunch of bikini-clad little girls. Perhaps an unfortunate choice. Luckily, no one asked what I was reading, and it's an old-school Everyman, with a plain blue cloth cover, so it's unlikely that anyone noticed.
I felt particularly nervous when chatting with an acquaintance who is a very conversative Muslim woman that covers everything but her face, doesn't listen to music of any kind, and is currently pregnant with her sixth child. There I am, sitting on the wet grass displaying my head, arms and legs for all the world to see with a smutty book laying open beside me, while she stands upright with her flowing black garments and huge belly, looking down at me, literally and figuratively.
I tried to make sure the conversation didn't lag, lest she turn the discussion to books, by asking her about each of her five children in turn, then about her husband, then delving deep into the topic of pregnancy-related health problems. Finally, her husband came over and said it was time to go. I breathed a sigh of relief as she left to gather her children, and silently vowed never to read Lolita in public again.
Teeth!
M'hijo was a popular one at the beach, getting lots of attention from children and adults alike. At one point, another mum said "Oh he's got teeth already."
Because he puts everything in his mouth and is constantly sucking on his hand, people have been telling me knowingly, "Somebody's teething!" for months now, to which I've always responded, with a weak smile, "No, not yet, he just really likes to suck." So that's what I said to this mom.
"No, look, you can see them!" she insisted.
Again, I trotted out the standard reply, "No, he's had those white areas on his gums since he was born, it's just the way they look, it's not teeth."
"No, not those, those, on the bottom."
I finally looked in the baby's mouth and by gum she was right. Unbeknownst to me (though, in retrospect, my nipples had sensed a certain sharpness of late), M'hijo had sprouted the two cutest teeth in the world. Another milestone for M'hijo: Teeth, two, at exactly six months of age.
Unreliable Footwear
When I stood up to go at the end of the day, my flip-flop broke. You know how when some shoes break, you can still sort of wear them, even if it's a bit comfortable or looks weird? Not so much with flip-flops. So we trudged off, with me half barefoot, toward Estevan village. Sahsez was tired at this point, unimpressed at the length of the walk to the busstop, and even more unimpressed with my insistence that I buy some new shoes before catching the bus home.
"But why can't you just go barefoot?" she whined.
"Sassy, I've just walked for five minutes with one shoe and already I'm very uncomfortable. The pavement is hot today. Plus, we need to go to Pepper's, and I can't walk around a grocery store with just one shoe on."
"But why can't we just go straight home?"
"We need groceries for dinner."
"But why can't you borrow my shoe? I don't mind being barefoot!"
"Sassy, your shoes won't fit me. You know that. Now stop arguing. I absolutely insist upon getting new shoes, so there's no point in discussing it."
Doing this proved trickier than I expected, though I finally managed to find an overpriced pair of flip-flops (with sequins!) at an overpriced gift shop in Estevan village. After that, we arrived at the bus stop just in time to see our bus fly by and for M'hijo to wake up and start wailing.
Conclusion
But rewind twenty minutes and check out the scene: me, with two tired kids, trudging along, stroller overladen with dirty beach toys, wet towels, a broken flip-flop. My foot is burning on the hot pavement. M'hijo is tired and fighting sleep. Sahsez is starting whine. But I'm in Oak Bay, the sun is shining, my kids are healthy, I'm thinking about picking up a Cyser Cider on the way home, I have no worries. And I realize that this is my paradise.
