"I feel that life is divided into the horrible and the miserable. That's the two categories. The horrible are like, I don't know, terminal cases, you know, and blind people, crippled. I don't know how they get through life. It's amazing to me. And the miserable is everyone else. So you should be thankful that you're miserable, because that's very lucky, to be miserable."
That pretty much describes my weekend at the beach. I was miserable, but I was happy to be miserable.
Miserable at the beach, you ask? Why, it couldn't possibly be so. You would probably think that, wouldn't you?
You'd be wrong.
It's not that being at the beach is miserable. It's not.
It's lovely.
And sandy.
And salty.
And oceanic.
Is that a word? Oceanic?
I don't know. The only other time I've heard it was followed by "Flight 815".
I'm getting off course, here. Where was I?
Oh, right. Miserable.
You see, while being at the beach is wonderful, it's a vacation. And when you're on vacation, what do you usually like to do? Exactly! Anything you can that's completely different from the normal drudgery that makes up your day to day existence.
So, while I'm lolling around our lovely, little beach town home, I want to sit on the couch with my feet up reading a book and drinking wine.
I don't care that it's only 1:15 in the afternoon. I don't care that the sun is shining and I'm wasting a perfectly good day with my nose in a book.
I never get to do that at home (except for the wine thing, which I do a lot...not at 1:15, but you get the idea.....).
So when I'm at the beach,
THAT'S WHAT I WANT TO DO!
I don't want to cook breakfast. My mother is supposed to do that.
I don't want to do dishes. My mother is supposed to do that, too. (Is my mother here?....'Cause, she's kind of slackin' on this dish thing....)
I don't want to do laundry, or clean bathrooms, or vacuum floors (Please see above....Mom! Where are you?)
And I DON'T want to referee a hundred and fourteen arguments between my kids. Or negotiate three hundred and twenty-seven times who gets to pick the Wii game. Or explain to the kid that his sister will never consider him allowing her to watch while he plays Real Heros: Firefighter a reward for being nice....
No, she won't....No....It's not fun for her....She wants to play, too.....Put on 'Just Dance 2' and she'll get bored in about 10 minutes.
I want to relax.
I want to walk with my bare feet in the sand and feel it's warmth flow through my whole body.
I want to the waves to kiss my tips of my toes when the ocean comes to say, "Hello, friend. Where have you been all this time? I've missed you."
I want to take pictures.
Just a side note here ~ I love everything about this man. Even his feet. Even when one leg of his pants are tucked into his shoes and he doesn't know it. Because when he's wearing those shoes, he's doing his favorite thing in the whole world, and I love it when he does that. I love him.
And I love these kids. Especially when one of them decides that the best way off the beach is not on the trail that's already been blazed, but rather through the masses of broken logs and bramble bushes.
And then she gets stuck and can't figure out where to put her foot next so she won't fall and get pricked by a bramble bush.
And then when she does fall, her voice wafts up from behind the logs and bramble bushes, "I'm okay!"
And then Daddy has to go in and get her, and offer his hand in true Prince Charming fashion, so she can make her way out.
And then she says, "Well....that was an adventure."
Oh....my heart. My sandy blond, sandy face, sandy boy.
You make me miserable. And that is so lucky.
Who knew misery could be so perfect?
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