Later in the day J., S. and I went to the beach. S. hung took shovels to the beach, but we had radically different ideas of what a sand castle should be. I think the main thing I did that S. approved of (and requested) was a hole he could put his foot in that would go up to his thigh. I think I got just a little above his knee in depth.
I went in and got strangely intimidated by the waves. I knew I could dive under them and come up fine on the other side, and I knew if I did this two or three times I'd finally get to a point where the waves wouldn't be crashing on me but, for whatever reason, I didn't quite have the confidence to get to that point nor did I have as much interest in riding the waves that could make up for that lack of confidence. This all led to my acting like a big baby (except a big baby's natural instinct might still me to start swimming-ish...which wasn't the case for me). Meanwhile S., who is five, was having a nasty case of skin irritation...and yet he was actually quite stoic in some respects. J. suggested they both look miserable, but S. was too busy eating veggie bites (that's not exactly the name, I just forget it...they were good though). It was a weird thing and definitely misery making for the S.-Man. I never call him that.
I do like the look of the beach. I remember how unrelenting the sun is, and I've become one of those people who become overly aware of their pale skin and the discomfort of a sunburn. In some circles you might call me sensible. In others, neurotic.
I went in and got strangely intimidated by the waves. I knew I could dive under them and come up fine on the other side, and I knew if I did this two or three times I'd finally get to a point where the waves wouldn't be crashing on me but, for whatever reason, I didn't quite have the confidence to get to that point nor did I have as much interest in riding the waves that could make up for that lack of confidence. This all led to my acting like a big baby (except a big baby's natural instinct might still me to start swimming-ish...which wasn't the case for me). Meanwhile S., who is five, was having a nasty case of skin irritation...and yet he was actually quite stoic in some respects. J. suggested they both look miserable, but S. was too busy eating veggie bites (that's not exactly the name, I just forget it...they were good though). It was a weird thing and definitely misery making for the S.-Man. I never call him that.
I do like the look of the beach. I remember how unrelenting the sun is, and I've become one of those people who become overly aware of their pale skin and the discomfort of a sunburn. In some circles you might call me sensible. In others, neurotic.
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