The girls in our house sure do love them some beach days. My entire summers as a kid revolved around when I could be in the water; lakes, rivers, pools, mud puddles (sure, a little redneck, but true), the rain. Apparently that desire hasn't left me.
Combine that with the Dad's solid career as a lifeguard at the town pool where he spent his days being loved by little girls, and hated by the bigger ones who had to unplug their noses on his watch, and we have ourselves a fish for a daughter.
(Who, yes, failed her first grown-up swimming lessons. Good lesson in humility for all parties.)
We camped last month with our people, and patiently waited for the skies to cooperate with our need for water. When the sun finally broke, and the wind was the last things on our mind, we headed for the sand.
It was freezing, but her screams of delight probably had less to do with that, and more to do with joy.
She even shucked her rash guard, exposing all that skin, wanting to soak up as much love and sun as possible.
She wore her old, too-small water wings, and retrieved from the waves just like a good little puppy would. Not that it elicited any weird looks from other beachgoers or anything ...
While the real puppy pretended his wasn't tethered to his Mama's ankle instead of asleep under the truck.
Sandcastles were built for tiny fairies and mermaids to live in.
Tattoos were appropriately covered with SPF so no fading would occur.
That photo is in the running as my favorite of all summer.
Much like those sunglasses that were brand new that day (mine) and never made it back from that little trip.
So, lil' dude, I hate to keep doing this to you, but you now owe me $4 for those.
One of the best perks of summer.
For obvious reasons.
And then, because even sunshine burns if you get too much, all good things came to an end.
There's nothing better than post-swimming pig out sessions because you're ravenously hungry.
Your hair is wet and smells like lake.
Your fingers and toes are wrinkled.
And you sleep the best sleep ever.