Beach Baby

After a fancy-restaurant dinner on my seventeenth birthday, we decided on the spur of the moment to go to the beach. It was already dark and none of us was dressed in beachwear, but we went anyway on that gorgeous summer night and walked on the sand in our stockinged feet. It was great and a favorite memory. And one of the best things about living in Southern California--the beach is just a breath and a wild hair away. It becomes part of your world, your culture, even your blood. What a great way to grow up. But, unfortunately, not one I’ve shared with my kids. All of my children except Keilana were born in Northern California, and she was young enough when we relocated that she doesn’t have any memories of living below Santa Barbara (which, in my opinion, is the official dividing line between north and south). So, their visits to the oceanside have been few and far between. It almost broke my heart the first time five year-old Connor sputtered up from a wave yelling, “Someone put salt in here!” As if he had just discovered that. Which he had. And Scarlett’s first impression of the beach as a toddler last summer was a definitive “No, thank you!” She really hated the experience, was freaked out and scared. How can these be my kids? In Margret and H.A. Rey’s Curious George Goes to the Beach, our favorite monkey spends a day in the sand and surf. Heaven.

http://www.amazon.com/Curious-George-Goes-Beach-Rey/dp/0395978386

http://thereycenter.org/Welcome.html