The water off the Jersey Shore is 55 degrees. On Father's Day I spent upwards of six hours in that water, long enough for any of the more Father's-Day-ish parts of me to bid adieu to the external world and find a new home somewhere between my kidneys and my pancreas. I'm not sure they can be coaxed back out before the next Father's Day comes around. Not that anyone's trying.
On the plus side, lifting forty pounds of toddler flesh over each and every wave that hit that shore did wonders for my pecs. Tell me again, when will trips to the beach be relaxing? Every year I hear learned people recommend books I should take to the beach, and every year I wonder what they expect me to do with them there. Use them to hold down the blanket, perhaps? And while you are answering that, tell me why do we even take a blanket? Who sits on it? Neither my wife nor I, that's for sure. Not while there are ball-numbing waves to lift our kids over.
And a Happy Belated Father's Day to you, too.
In other news, the storm that spanked New Jersey last week left much of our town without power for a day or so. That night, while the upper floors of our house filled with the unnatural heat of the day, the five of us slept on the basement floor, willing the coolness up from the concrete and into our bodies. The twins were beside themselves with the arrangement, the candles, and the company, and they spent the night waking repeatedly just to see if we were all still there. Kathryn, as is her wont, spent the night twirling and shadowboxing, never having more than one body part touching the sleeping bag in which she was supposed to be sleeping.
The next morning, still without power, Sharon fled to work and my girls and I fled to the local cineplex, where Jack Black assured us "there is no charge for awesomeness." Which explains why his new movie cost me $31.
The power came back on at about 3 PM, and the lights immediately illuminated the mountains of crap I had ignored up till then. So we turned them back off and went outside, where all three kids were amazed to learn a sprinkler required no electricity whatsoever.
I believe the trips to the beach become relaxing when you retire to Florida.
Happy belated Father's Day!
Posted by: Meredith | June 19, 2008 at 09:48 AM
Have you ever thought about writing for the New Jersey Tourism Board? Because the state is really calling my name right about now.
Posted by: You can call me, 'Sir' | June 19, 2008 at 11:06 AM
Wow, your ball numbing beach trip just totally topped Hotty Hubby's sack shrinking fun in the freezing cold dunk tank at the Ballpark Fun Fair that day. Good on you. And why is that the spawnlets never get quite as cold as we do? Perhaps because we're stupid enough to lift them.
Posted by: MadWomanMeg | June 19, 2008 at 02:31 PM
I think you get to read a book when the oldest hits two digits.... I am reading at the town pool now my friend, and it is soooooo awesome. I have, however, already had two "saves" - evidently the lifeguards are merely decorative. Not that I mind...
Posted by: Heidi number 2 but whose counting... | June 20, 2008 at 10:27 AM
I think those "relaxing" beach trips happen after the kids are grown. And now I'm thankful we have beaches in the Carolinas. 55 degrees? Heck, I don't even touch the water until it's at least in the seventies.
Posted by: Bennie | June 20, 2008 at 11:17 AM
Oh, the power outage sleepover - I know it well. A lost night's sleep, just from the sheer novelty. Gah.
Posted by: Velma | June 21, 2008 at 10:16 AM
God bless sprinklers!
Posted by: Loretta | June 23, 2008 at 01:06 PM