A few Sunday mornings ago Brett and I were awakened by our three year old announcing "I need a snack!" We simultaneously looked at the clock and realized we had no chance of making it to church on time, thanks to having turned off the alarm clock in despair somewhere in the middle of a night full of nursing, holding, and changing baby. Brett's eyes were practically swollen shut due to allergies, and we were all feeling a little tired of being cooped up with each other. This is when I had an uncharacteristic burst of spontaneity: "Let's go to the beach!" I shouted, and my poor drippy-nosed husband instantly jumped into action. By the time I had myself and the boys dressed and ready to go, he had packed the car full of towels, umbrella, sand toys, changes of clothes, and a picnic lunch. The poor man probably would have walked to the beach carrying us all on his back if it meant an escape from pollen and fussy kids.
Well, it was a wonderful day. Absolutely perfect. We built sand castles, buried each other, dug for shells, and while Brett and Moses chased waves, this happened:
And there I was, on the beach, in the sun, with NOTHING to do. Nothing to clean, nothing to sew, nothing to even read. I believe my mouth literally dropped open once I realized the enormity of it. I experienced a brief flashback to my childhood, hearing my mom reply to my complaint of "I have nothing to do" by saying passionately "I WISH I had nothing to do!" Ah, yes, I am now in that phase of life. I get it now Mom.
So, I did nothing for about 37 minutes and it was grand. We packed ourselves back into the car, each feeling refreshed and ready to go home. (The best indication of the rejuvenating power of this trip was my husband's reaction to the parking ticket we received - something about that being the best $45 picnic lunch he's ever had.) :)