When I was in college, I loved to go down to the Gulf of Mexico and body surf on the waves. There is nothing like the warm salt water, sandy beaches, and the bright sun that characterizes that particular coastline. I specifically enjoyed jumping the waves while I plodded out into the ocean looking for the perfect wave to ride.
While we were on vacation, Son #2 became enamored with the ocean and its waves. He would run as fast as he could toward the water as my husband or I chased after him. We would catch up to him, lift him into the air, and let the surf tickle his toes. Son #2 laughed with glee and then begged for more. My husband and I are suckers. We would always oblige him.
On one of my many journeys with Son #2 into the breaking swell, I reminisced about my trips to the gulf. Son #2 reminded me of myself when I was young, covered in salt water and anticipating the next wave. Soon the next wave was upon us. I hoisted my crazy toddler into the air as the water lapped at his ankles. He squealed with excitement.
All too soon, it was time for a nap. Son #2's eyelids drooped wearily as he clung to his dad's leg. My husband was also tired and volunteered to take him inside. I waved to my baby as he clung to my husband's shoulder. Then, I promised to come inside after a while. With a touch of childish delight, I ran over to where Son #1 was constructing his sand castle. However, that is another story.