We don’t often appreciate quite how lucky we are. LSH and I not only had the good fortune to arrive to parents in the UK where poverty is not a given (although there are areas of deprivation that make me want to just cry, but that’s another post), but also in a region where we have beautiful rolling countryside to the north and beaches to the south, and all within 10 -15 minutes drive away.
We’ve grown up knowing nothing else (and avoiding big cities like London as they feel oppressive to us softie southerners. Anything north of London is like talk of north of the wall in Game of Thrones). Now, we are passing this privilege onto our daughters who are also growing up strong on the chalk.
Today was a beach day. It’s not sunny, it’s not overly warm, it’s just a bog standard British mild summer day (around 20C, bit cloudy, chilly breeze). But nevertheless, on went the wet suits, and off we trundle to get a bodyboard having agreed with the girls that they are competent enough now in the waves to give it a go without helicopter supervision.
As you can see, they opted for the most feminine of designs!
I sat with my friend whilst our collective kids raced down to the sea as if it was Hawaii, rather than the English Channel and we chatted while our kids screamed with the happiness only kids can get during a summer holiday when days are long and filled with friends, waves and heaps of stinky seaweed.
We were the epitome of good parents as we greeted their shivering selves with towels and warm socks and in turn, they regarded us as producers of food, warm drinks and the very occasional diplomatic intervention.
It doesn’t matter to them that we were actually sitting on our bums drinking tea and coffee and nattering like a pair of old fishwives (which, for the record was really enjoyable!), or that the weather was mediocre, what the kids saw was freedom, picnics, their mums joining in with the cartwheels (I didn’t knacker my back either. Although someone needs some new jeans!). This is the bit I want the kids to look back and remember instead of the early mornings where they’re just not doing things fast enough, me staggering in late from work just after they get in from bed, or me being just too tired to hold a conversation about the latest puffle.
I also hope I don’t remember too vividly the sheer volume of green sludgey ick I had to comb out of BeanPole’s hair. I ended up using a nit comb – no lice, but oodles of weird vegetation. I’ll take that over lice though!
So thank you Mrs Inky for being as equally weird as me and pointing out the big important things in life like cartwheeling on the beach, and stopping to enjoy life rather than just getting everything done.
Oh, and I will find someone who wants a penis cake.