The Sand Momster

This past weekend I went camping with my family.  Just the five of us.  It went remarkably well.  I did forgot a few minor things, like plates and the kids' toothbrushes.  And one major thing: coffee cups.  I forgot the thing that gets the coffee from the coffee pot to my mouth.  But my husband bought these to get us by. 

I'm sorry, Mother Nature.  Coffee won this round.

We hiked (it was really more like a glorified walk) to the Willow River Falls.  Beautiful.  And the kids loved exploring the little caves along the shores of the river.  They saw a crayfish.  And a stick bug (or Phasmatodea...I looked it up!).

 
That afternoon we went to the beach.  The kids quickly made friends and spent several hours building sand villages.  It was perfect!  They were having a great time and I got to sit in my camping chair with a beer (I love Wisconsin!!). Then, just off to the left, in front of where Wade and I sat, a family planted themselves.  I casually watched as the mom and three kids started building their own sand world.  They were digging, filling and emptying buckets, shaping hills and decorating their sandy land with tiny trees.  Guilt set in.  This mom wasn't sitting back, watching her kids play.  She was in there, hands filthy and knees caked with sand.  I looked over at my kids, Max almost completely buried in sand by his sisters and their new beach friends.  I should be over there.  With them.  I glanced back at the good mom.  By this point their village was sprawling, with rivers and valleys.  I focused in for just a second, eavesdropping on their family memory.   As I listened, I heard the mom say, "Not there.  No no, that's not where that goes.  You have to start it over there.  Build it to that corner and then dig to this wall."  The kids scurried to do as they were told.  I couldn't help but keep listening and I started to realize that this mom wasn't really playing with her kids.  She was directing them.  This wasn't their beach habitat.  It was hers.  Before I sound too judgemental, allow me to finish my thought.  I realized, watching this mom and letting my guilt dissipate, that had I gotten down on my hands and knees in the sand with my kids, I would have been the. same. way.  So, my kids played down the beach, checking in from time to time, usually wanting a snack.  And my husband and I sat and watched.  Drink in hand.  Not a grain of sand above my toes.

I will leave you with this lesson in making the best of a bad situation...a popped air mattress.

(Turn the volume down, the sound quality is terrible.  Sorry.)