Hurry up and slow down

After daycare today, I took Pickle to my favourite beach. Here, the azure ocean is more vast than I've seen in any of the other beaches on the island, I could stand and watch the wave choreography for hours, the endlessly stretching mountains, coated in glistening snow, stand in a frozen procession whenever skies are blue, their glory and majesty unmatched. Not to mention it was the site of our wedding photos...beach piano included.

Although there was a sad lack of pianos, today it didn't disappoint. Sun glittered impossibly on each little mischievous ripple, sending my brain into orgasms of emotional ecstasy, and my daughter, who, moments before in the car was complaining that she didn't like the beach, upon being presented with a bucket and spade and wrapped up in various warm clothes like a little golden sausage roll, was instantly transported to happyland. She sat beside the tide pools and marvelled at the seaweed, the dead crabs, the pebbles, the hermit crabs who were living in hijacked shells. She filled her bucket with water and sand and tipped it all out, over and over and over. She scrambled around on the jagged high rock forms giving me heart attack after heart attack but miraculously staying strong and upright. She ran and ran and ran up and down the grassy paths next to the beach, sitting down every few minutes to "make houses" with rocks and soil and grass. She walked across long huge logs blown down to Earth from the kingdom of the Gods, showing her balancing skills and then sitting on them and going for horsie rides. I was strongly encouraged to join her on a great many horsie rides, very fortunately being saved from the sharks who lived under the logs at the last minute on a number of occasions. But only because I punched them all in the nose.

For the first little while, I sat on a rock watching her, breathing in the sea air and marvelling at the mountains. I then began to get bored. I started thinking about what I had to do at home, what we would make for her supper, what my day was looking like tomorrow. When we left, I was quite relieved. 

But I don't think I have ever seen Pickle quite so happy as she was at that beach. As I was driving us home and reflecting upon this, I wanted to box my own ears. Why do I waste this precious, priceless time I have with her thinking about the bloody dusting and what I will put in her lunch tomorrow? I reminded myself that these times, however frequent, will eventually end, and I will regret not being completely present. 

I'm not saying that these times are any less boring. Sitting with kids at the beach, or sitting with kids anywhere really, can be incredibly dull. But maybe I need to embrace this bit of time where I'm a bit bored. Because before I know it, I won't be able to be bored with my kid at the beach, with ice capped mountains behind me, sea wind whipping through my hair,  watching my child crouched down, bobble hat on her head, brow furrowed, communing with anemones.

Side note: If you want to experience cuteness overload that will make your head explode, teach a 3 year old how to say "anemone". 

Thanks for reading x