TGIF (thank God it’s fall):
The annual beach misery is over

This is my favorite time of year to go to the beach. Actually, it’s the only time of year that I like to go to the beach. The water is at its warmest. The crowds have thinned and it is less likely that I will bathe in my own sweat.

It’s a well-documented fact that the beach and I hate one another. It is also becoming apparent that my children hate the beach. Just recently, my husband tried to blame this hatred on me, as if I had passed on some mutated gene that makes children averse to sun and sand. To disprove this, I had to take him on a walk down memory lane, not an easy task as this is a street that he can rarely find.

I grew up only a few blocks from the beach and once I was old enough to walk there myself, it’s where I spent most of my time. From nighttime bonfires (that may or may not have been legal) to afternoons passed fighting boredom as we lay baking in the sun, the majority of my teen years were spent in the sand.

Since Brian and I have been together, we’ve moved around a few times, but never far from the water. We’ve had several different boats and most of our free time was spent on or near some form of water. As time marched on, I came to realize that these moments of relaxation and freedom were really about fishing and were neither relaxing or freeing.

Though I admire my husband’s devotion and blind dedication to something that he loves, I cannot understand it. I am baffled by the obsessive need to catch all the fish. All of them. And as an unabashed extrovert, I really cannot understand his need to do this without talking. The one-sided conversations I had with him as he stared at the rippling water, trying to think like the fish, got old fast. There was only so much enjoyment I could find on a 20-foot boat, in the middle of the Sound, all by myself.

Of course, now that I am over a decade into motherhood, I would give my left pinkie for some of that quiet and alone time. Hell, I’d give both of my pinkies. They’re not all that useful anyway. But back then, I was still young, naive and sleeping through the night. I had no idea.

Anyway, fast forward a few years and somehow, I’ve got two children. It’s summer and one of them is old enough for town swimming lessons at the beach. I sign him up and foolishly look forward to those two weeks of daily beach time.

The big day arrives and I’m up early. Not to get ready, but just because I’m a mother and we’re all up early. Doesn’t matter if you got to bed at 3 a.m. or if your kid got up 37 times during the night, within minutes of sunrise, all children are awake.

I started prepping the food for the cooler bag. Lots of cut-up, fresh fruit and veggies, because it gets hot on the beach in August. No peanut butter and jelly. Though it seems like a good idea, there is nothing quite so awful as a PB&J&S – even crunchy peanut butter can’t mask the grating misery of sand between your molars. I filled the water bottles with mostly ice, to keep them cold as long as possible and threw in a few granola bars, for good measure.

Onto the actual beach bag. Towels for drying, towels for sitting on, an extra blanket for dry people to sit on, three bottles of sunblock (one per person), sunglasses that children refuse to wear but will demand once we get there, goggles, an umbrella, swimmies for the wee one, beach toys, beach chairs and a couple of kick boards because God forbid they not have several recreational options.

This took about three hours. It probably would’ve taken half that time, but during that time, I was still required to make the kids breakfast, change diapers, find bathing suits, diffuse sibling battles and care for the menagerie of pets that also seemed to think they deserve food and water. I think the swim lesson was scheduled for a half-hour. It’s not really a good ratio, but we do these things for our kids.

To better understand the situation, you should know that my son was already a proficient swimmer. I had been taking him to swimming lessons since his second birthday. But those were pool lessons and the beach is different. There are waves and riptides and all sorts of factors one does not need to consider whilst in the confines of a swimming pool. Nonetheless, the kid was completely capable of keeping himself alive in two feet of water.

Within four minutes, the instructor wondered if perhaps my son shouldn’t be in this particular group, as this was meant for kids who could swim. I assured him that the child had been taking lessons for years. He looked at me like perhaps there was something stronger than ice water in my bottle or maybe I was just a freaking lunatic. Or worse, maybe I was one of those moms that thinks her kid is a prodigy at everything when he or she is really little more than a drooling mimic, just like everybody else’s kid.

Either way, I’m pretty sure the lifeguard thought my kid was destined for a watery grave and he totally planned to blame it on me. The second the instructor turned his back to demonstrate some stroke or another, I watched my child scoot out of the water and run towards me.

“Mommy, I don’t like it.”

“It’s been four minutes. I think you’re judging too quickly.”

“There are things in the water.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. But we’ve signed up for these lessons and we’re not quitters. You can do this. You’re a good swimmer.”

Then came the tears. They were accompanied with screaming and wild claims of jelly fish infestations, murderous seaweed and even veiled references to Godzilla.

I was so busy trying to calm him down and get him back in the water, I missed it when our umbrella blew away. Luckily, it was a Monday so the beach was sparsly populated. For the most part, the inhabitants were other parents whose children were also taking swimming lessons. They either sympathized with me or judged me, but at least they didn’t get skewered with my flying projectile.

Needless to say, it wasn’t a banner day. I don’t know how we made it through the next nine days, but somehow we did. I have to assume that I blocked out all the painful memories, because there is no other explanation for why I signed us up again the next year.

I wasn’t nearly as optimistic this time around, but swore I would put on a smile and emotionally go to my happy place while I ushered the two kids and all of our stuff back into the car for our own personal Groundhog Day hell.

This time it was so bad that shortly after arriving both children were crying. Through my gritted teeth, I painted on a smile and encouraged them to have fun! Step out of their comfort zone! Try something new!

I have no idea how my son handled these requests (again with the blacking out all of the bad memories) but I clearly remember my daughter’s reaction. I found my baby girl, a child who often growled at people who spoke to her without being spoken to, wandering from blanket to blanket, asking strangers, “Please, can you take me home?”

At this point, even my best friend, a woman who had been at my side for some of my darkest moments, a mom who, for years, soothed my fears and dried my tears, a confidante who encouraged me to move ahead when I thought I had nothing left, she told me to go home. She even said please. Then offered to help me carry my stuff to the car. And asked me to never come to the beach with her again. Ever.

But somehow Brian thinks this is my fault? That I filled the water with stinging invertebrates? Made the sun too hot? Caused the salt water to sting the children’s delicate skin? OK, maybe I have to own that one. The Irish-potato-skin, as my husband so lovingly calls it, is definitely a genetic inheritance from my side.

But really, I tried. I hauled three days worth of supplies. I bathed pasty, uncooperative children in sunblock. I chased flying umbrellas. I sat in pools of my own sweat, acquiring a coating of sand every time I moved.

Sometimes, there is no bright side. There is no trying again another day. There is no looking on the bright side, because you’re sunglasses are sticky with SPF 80 and you can’t see through them anyway.

So Brian can blame me as much as he wants. He can tell me that I have tainted my children’s view of the wonderful world that awaits at the beach. He can try to bring them back from the brink and convince them to come to his bright side. Whatever.

My butt will be at home, poolside, drink in hand. Because home is where the heart it. It’s also where my oldest is a junior lifeguard, the bathroom is always unlocked (and usually clean), the fruit is always cold (because it’s in the damn refrigerator) and the kids are old enough to cut it up themselves.

Thank God summer is over. Viva la autumn!

Since my kids skin is all Irish-potato skin-like, I have a hard time finding sunscreens that don’t irritate them while also protecting them from the death rays of the sun. I found a recipe for homemade sunblock at healthy-holistic-living.com. This is a controversial topic, but I usually make my kids wear rash guards anyway (and they generally shy away from the sun like vampires), so it’s not as big of a concern to me. I suggest doing your own research to see if homemade sunblock is a good choice for you and your family.

Homemade sunscreen
Ingredients:
1/2 cup of 100% pure aloe (preferably organic) – it should be globby, like it came fresh out of the plant.
20 drops carrot seed oil OR raspberry seed oil – (raspberry seed oil has a higher SPF if that is what you are looking for)
5 tbsp coconut oil
3 capsules of Vitamin E oil (break open the capsules) or hemp seed oil (2 tbsp)
5 drops of Lavender oil
2 Tablespoons Zinc Oxide (purchase a non-nano version that won’t be absorbed into the skin. Be careful not to inhale the powder).
This makes a natural SPF of 20+ or more can be added.) Make sure not to inhale the Zinc Oxide- use a mask if necessary!

NOTE: Please omit zinc oxide from the recipe to make a truly natural and toxic-free version of this sunscreen, especially during preparation. Zinc oxide can affect the lungs and reproductive system if inhaled. Replace the zinc oxide with 1 tablespoon of avocado oil which helps increase the sun protection factor (SPF).

Or just stay home. It works for me.

Laurie Nigro, a mother of two, is passionate about her family, her community, and natural living. Laurie resides in downtown Riverhead and is co-founder of the River and Roots Community Garden on West Main Street.

 
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