Andrea's Adventures in Binkyland

Fun in the Sun

On Sunday, we took a family trip to the beach. As is befitting the vampire-like nature of our complexions, we left at the pleasantly shady hour of 5pm, still wondering if it weren't just a bit too sunny for us.

This was Sasha's first experience with the beach and the many things associated with it: sand, waves, seagulls. In all, Sasha does not care for the beach.

As soon as we got to the sand, we put her down barefoot and let her walk between us, one hand per parent. Walking on sand, Sasha found, is strange and bemusing. She did seem to enjoy it, but not half so much as walking on something normal, like, say, carpeting. It definitely rates over walking on grass in her eyes, though.

Itwasn't long until she saw her first seagull: She screamed! She pointed! It was as though she were saying, look, mommy and daddy, there is an animal! I must catch it and play with it! And she toddled off toward the seagull, each paw still held by one of us.

Despite the phenomenal laziness of the common beach seagull, it nonetheless eluded her. Maybe next time, little girl.

Once we got close to the shoreline and set up camp, we thought to let Sasha get her feet wet in the waves. This was a Bad Plan (TM). First off, Sasha decided that walking on the wet sand was decidedly icky, and tried to back up. But worse, the tide was going out, and it was difficult to gauge the sweet spot between staying dry and drenching the poor kid. After a rather long wait, Sasha complaining about the yucky wet sand the whole while, we caught a wave. The wave was icy! The wave was hard and sudden and scary! Worse, the wave was up to her poor little thighs!

For reasons that should be painfully clear, this single wave ruined the rest of her beach experience. She began to cry. We retreated posthaste from the water, and tried to distract her with the fun digging and burying you can do with sand, but it was not to be. She clung to our shoulders and expressed to us how very unsure of this weird place she felt. I buried her feet; she cried and stamped her way clear. Daddy built a sandcastle with a gully. Sasha kept a close eye on the waves, unimpressed by his architecture. I stomped on the sandcastle with my very best Godzilla impersonation, and she smiled! So we tried to let her do some stomping, and she cried. We cut our losses and went home shortly thereafter.

We have perhaps ruined the beach and the experience of beachiness for our daughter for all time. It is too early to tell. But even if this is so, we can consider ourselves as having done her no small favor. If she never cares to go to the beach, imagine all the sun exposure she will miss! Imagine all of the now-eliminated painful hours trying to find a swimsuit that make her look like a supermodel! Imagine all of the gross places she will never find sand on her way home!

My kitchen is: Cluttered of counter. Sasha has discovered that she can get into the bottom drawer of our pantry and help herself to the foodstuffs therein. This would not be terrible, except that she decides to help herself to those foods, destroying about half the package in the process. And let me tell you, half a package of graham cracker crumbs on your floor is no small mess. Therefore all of the graham crackers, pretzels, Goldfish, and other snackifoods that used to reside in that drawer now live on the countertops, until I can find a way to rearrange.

Ideally, I'd like to use that drawer for snacks she can help herself to, preferably in a single-serving format. I'm not sure how to do that and yet prevent her from opening, say, five containers. Any ideas? Is she still too small for the self-serve concept?

Posted by andrea at August 27, 2003 11:48 AM