When I was deeply into running, I loved this notion: trust your feet. Having spent some really important time walking—and running—on the beach this week (Florida’s Gulf Coast), I was reminded of this idea. Aside from trust, the sand sloughed off some wintry roughness and was a DIY massager of sorts and so my feet feel really fine (they do not always feel entirely fine). Maybe I’ll write about what roared in my ears while I pushed against the wind and what filled the quiet when I went with the wind, but for now, a hello to the blog and an invitation to feel some gratitude for your feet or hands or anything you believe deserves that trust and love.
This week I loved that my mom encouraged me to sleep (and sleep I did). Sleep was the giant thing I needed. I loved that Saskia worked so hard to keep up with her big brothers—and got herself swimming solo and that all three kids made strides in the water. I loved the ceaseless clanking of the Yahtzee dice (Saskia had her own set) and despite loving the game, I loved that I didn’t play even once. I loved reading. I loved walking to the Publix daily. I loved my adorable sleeping companion. I loved meeting one of my mother’s childhood friends and her daughter and bonding with the daughter over how strange it was to visit Nashville relatives during childhood and feel so “other,” as in so non-Nashville. I loved my second son’s utter devotion to the Republican Presidential race, even though no adult was willing to pay it much thought other than “ugh.” And I loved the nine year-old pretending to ski anywhere and everywhere and remembering how endearing it is when he’s pleased about something and exhales, “Yes!”
The bored moments, the cranky ones, the overly loud ones, I didn’t love so much, but life is life is life. Being on vacation with one’s children doesn’t transform them into not-children (or not-young-teens). Besides, when Saskia’s no longer a small she may not repeat things-she-heard-on-the-Disney-channel like, “He’s a kid. No, he’s a genius just like Albert Frankenstein.” Her ability to crack us—and herself—up forgives a lot of screeching.
Remy did not want photographs of him from this week on the blog. I am hoping that the upside down in the water one squeaks by.
