Footprints in the sand.
Day two on our incredible Oregon Coast Adventure.
Manhattan Beach.
No rain. A little breeze. And not another soul around. This, to me, is bliss. Having our boys here to experience this kind of breath, this kind of awe and wonder.
Just as the wave cannot exist for itself, but is ever a part of the heaving surface of the ocean, so must I never live my life for itself, but always in the experience which is going on around me.
Albert Schweitzer.
The day before, in that lovely coffee shop, a woman roughly my mom’s age stopped as she and her husband were leaving and said, “You’re a really good mom,” and nodded her head sweetly my way. I’ve thought of it ever since, turning it this way and that. She lifted me up yet humbled me at once. I want it so badly, to be a really good mom. In my dreams, my boys know it, feel it, just revel in how deeply they are loved. In truth, I wonder about my myriad mistakes, the big ones and the small ones and even the ones I don’t even know I’m making, and honestly? I just hope and pray for the best.
But to realize that someone (who’s seen so very much more than I can fathom, by the way) was watching as boys were being juggled and games of checkers played and straws slipped out of drinks and rain boots fell off to the floor and still thought enough of it to actually say so… well. You just never know who will be in your village at just the right time to nudge you along and help you raise your family. Those words from a stranger that I will carry with me forever.
…So must I never live my life for itself, but always in the experience which is going on around me.
And oh, to run. Running to the edge of the water and calling out, “Come get me!”
All to turn and dance away when it does.
Our memories of the ocean will linger on, long after our footprints in the sand are gone.
Anonymous.
Lighthouse.
Teaching our boys about stuff we actually don’t know a lot about. Not about the life, at least, of someone who lived at sea and looked to the shore always.
But we did know how to teach them about other things. Like snails.
Cheese.
Tillamook cheese. Squeaky cheese, in fact. It makes us do this. And it’s yummy.
(P.S. I’ve decided that that face is my new portrait face. I don’t look as old there Ha.)
Arcadia Beach.
The Rev snoozed it up in the car for a while, giving The ‘Fish and me some time to scamper around to see things we hadn’t seen before.
I tried my hardest to coax him into squatting down by the mossy fence there for a happy pic, but he wouldn’t touch it. He said that the moss freaked him out. Little Colorado dude, I swear.
He looks so pained. Oy.
We slipped through the opening in the fence and followed a couple surfers down, down, down a very winding trail.
According to those surfer boys, the waves here aren’t as mushy as in other spots, so we decided to spectate after writing beach messages.
The Rev woke up. Sorta.
And we ran back and forth some more before heading back up the trail.
The boys had never crawled through a tree.
He wasn’t so sure, but if big brother does it, he does, too.
Yep, on the suspension bridge as well. Big brother did it, and so did he. But he needed hands to hold with that one, so no evidence here of the trek.
Can’t you just smell how green and fresh everything is? My heart already aches for it.
There’s still more to come.
