My Husband Thinks I’m Eating Bonbons but I’m Raising Our Kids

A perfect day at the beach includes a lot of love, even more sand, and definitely no decadent chocolates.

Ever since I was a little kid I just wanted to swim.

At five years old, my heaven on Earth was a body of water. Whether a lake, a pond, a pool, the ocean, or an extra feeding trough for cows, if there was water and I was in it, I was happy.

I carried my little bikini with me in my jean purse so that I was always prepared if presented with the chance to swim. I asked my mom to buy us a pool and I dragged her to our neighborhood pond every day in the summer.

I took swimming and diving as gym classes in college. I aqua jog at the local gym pool. I still feel a sense of deep calm when I smell chlorine or I crest a hill on a country road and spot a beautiful lake glimmering in the sunlight.

As a parent, it’s just not a worthwhile summer day if we aren’t swimming.

I know where all of the beaches are at our local lake, the lakes in a 25-mile vicinity, as well as the location of the public pools within an hour.

I probably know where most of the private pools are, too, and I’m waiting for an invitation to them.

In the summer our house is filled with sand, beach towels, wet suits, coolers, beach chairs, and more sand.

I love perfect summer days when we arrive at the beach by 10:45 and stay until the sun settles over the hills. On those beach days, we swim and we eat, and then swim more. The girls snooze on the way home. After dinner, we shower off the dirt, only leaving that sun-kissed feeling on our skin.

On those days, I feel so so lucky to be the mother to these two children. I’m watching them grow by the minute and I take part in their day from the time they wake up until they crash in their beds that evening.

My husband calls those days my bonbon summer days — he imagines me leisurely resting in a beach chair, the gentle breeze caressing my skin as I fall in and out of sleep. I sip wine and chocolate covered strawberries, read People magazine and gossip with other moms.

Hold up.

When it is one of those perfect days and I look out at the majestic water and feel that gorgeous hot sun on my back, and the cold splash of water in my face, I think to myself: there are no bonbons for moi here.

I know this much to be true of a day at the beach:

It will take me at least an hour to pack all of our gear, if not longer. I will forget something. I hope it’s not one of our swimsuits.

I’ll wish I had a third arm as I attempt to drag all of the gear from the parking lot to the beach. As soon as my feet hit the sand, the kids will want to eat before I can even put the cooler down.

I will forget to put sunblock somewhere on someone. I’ll feel bad about it when I’m looking at her red and white raccoon face at dinner.

I will ask not to be splashed in the face. I will ask repeatedly. I will get splashed, repeatedly, in the face.

Kid One will ask me 200 times to go in the water. Kid Two will ask me 200 times to stay out of the water and feed her.

Someone will have to poop. If it is a good day, we’ll make it to the bathroom. Let’s just say some days are better than others.

We’ll spend more time in the bathroom than in the water.

Kid Two will be loud all of the time. She’ll yell in the bathroom. She’ll yell on the beach. She’ll yell in the water.

Kid One will yell inappropriate things in the water like, “Snake!” or “Help me! Help me!!”

I will bring a book. I will read the same line over and over again. Food will fall in the sand. Some of it may be eaten anyway. I will hide my lunch. It will be found. It will either be eaten or dropped in the sand.

While watching my kids pretend to be dolphin/mermaid/princess hybrids I will also be witness to a couple in the water. The guy will either be right up behind the woman or the woman will be facing the guy with her legs wrapped around his waist. They’ll stay like that for a long time. During that time, I’ll be reminded to encourage my kids NOT to drink the water.

You just don’t know what bodily fluids are floating around.

I’ll see a lot of skin. More than I want to see. Kid One will too, and she’ll do her share of shouting things like, “Mommy! Look at those sexy ladies!”

Kid Two will get naked.

She’ll roll in the sand and then prance across the beach, her sandy bum entertaining the crowd. She’ll dress and undress several times.

Someone will be pissed that we are leaving, even though we have been there 10 hours and are coming back tomorrow. Someone will stomp her feet and tell me I’m the Worst Mom Ever.

The beach bag will feel so much heavier than when we arrived. It’ll be because we have acquired 10 pounds of sand. The girls will fall asleep on the way home. I’ll smile as they snooze. Oddly, I’ll feel both exhausted and relaxed at the same time.

When we return home, I will spend an hour doing laundry, cleaning the sandy cooler, and sweeping up all the sand we tracked in the house.

I wont eat bonbons or chocolate covered strawberries. I won’t feel the gentle breeze on my resting body. I won’t be served wine or have nearly enough time to gossip.

I’ll sleep really well.

We’ll do it all over again very soon if I’m lucky.