Beach Bag
Mom has been rushing around for days. Moms are always rushing, but this is different. Things thrown in bags, papers covered with words that the next day she draws lines through. We’ve gone to the store four times in four days. This isn’t hard for me to know because I just learned to count to one hundred. Four is a number even babies can count! Hats, glasses, lotion that comes in a big orange bottle and cookies Mom usually doesn’t buy. Shopping is pretty boring but on the third day mom lets me pick out a BIG rainbow towel all by myself.
Something special is happening. Dad comes home every day, picks me up and spins me above his head shouting about adventures. Roadtrip! Vacation! Sun! He is not using his inside voice and mom doesn’t shh him.
I love adventures. Grandma takes them with me all the time. The library for puppet shows, a big garden where I got to plant flowers in a little pot to take home. Sometimes on our adventures I feel a little scared. If you’ve never been to a puppet show, talking stuffed animals are pretty strange! And the time at the garden, there were worrrmmmss in the dirt. Can you imagine?! EWW. But Grandma says it is OK to be scared. She holds me tight, my back against her soft tummy. Her arms are small like mine, her skin soft and wrinkly, but they are stronger than anyone’s arms in the whole world. But they aren’t just strong; Grandma’s arms are smart. They know just when to let go on our adventures.
So as Daddy shouts about adventure and Mommy runs around packing so many snacks into the fancy bag we take to buy groceries, the one that keeps the ice cream cold, I feel a little scared. But like magic, Grandma walks in the front door, a huge smile on her face and big green triangle earrings on her ears. I run fast to her.
“Careful! Don’t knock her over!”
Mom doesn’t know how well I know Grandma’s waist. After a long hug, I turn around and face the continued activity. Grandma knows. Her arms tighten around the unicorn shirt I have picked out especially for this unknown adventure.
Mom took out my yellow suitcase a couple of days ago. She told me to put three pairs of underwear and my toothbrush in it. She searched for my swimsuit all over the house. She eventually found it on the back porch and rushed to wash it. She had forgotten Bette and I had played in the sprinklers on Tuesday.
I’ve been on trips before. Aunt Sue’s for Christmas, a special trip for my birthday to play at a museum just for kids. You should have seen the dinosaur bones they had! But this is different. I can feel it. Mom and Dad are so excited. They remind me of how I feel when I get to go to my best friend’s house, my favorite place in the world. Are we going to Mommy and Daddy’s favorite place in the world?
That must be it. I hadn’t ever thought about grownups having favorite places, about a place getting them so excited that they can't sit still or talk slowly…
It’s not that I haven’t tried to get answers. I have asked A LOT of questions. Mom starts to answer, then remembers three more things she has to write on the list. “Hold on just a sec, hun.” And then Dad. Oh Dad, he’s so happy he’s actually useless. He talks so fast I can’t understand. He starts to look for pictures to show me, but gets so carried away talking again I lose patience and go back to coloring.
But now, after a week of madness, Grandma is here. FINALLY. I watch from the comfort of her arms for a few more minutes and then I turn around look up at her and say much too harshly with a stomp of my foot, days of frustration pent up, “Where are we going?! What are we doing?! What is this adventure?!”
Grandma chuckles, but not in a way that makes me feel silly. She laughs in a way that makes me feel like she understands. Like she would be mad, too! She grabs my hand and we walk to the couch. Together we sink in and she pulls out her phone. A few clicks and up comes the most beautiful pictures. It’s the beach! Just like Moana! I see the ocean and the sand and there are big white cotton candy clouds in the sky. Grandma is smiling.
“Are you coming?”
“Of course!” She says this like a warrior ready for battle.
I look across the hall to the kitchen and shake my head at my parents. Only took Grandma two minutes to tell me what was happening!
The beach. A whole new adventure. I run to my room and grab the two books I have about the beach, looking for clues to prepare me. Will the waves be loud? Will the water be cold? Is the sand going to burn my feet like the sidewalk does when I run out without shoes on? What about the seagulls? Do we need to stay away from them?
While Mom is making sandwiches, I am trying to figure out if we should actually get in the water. It feels like her priorities are off. We won’t need food if the waves sink us to the bottom of the ocean!
Dad has started dragging bag after bag to the car. Suddenly, one of the brightly colored illustrations reminds me of something. I dart to my closet and dig. After a few moments of struggle, I pull from the bottom of the pile of dress up clothes and dolls a clear bag, an end of school present from my old teacher. It has hot pink handles, and across the front of the bag are brightly colored neon fish. This bag was made for the beach.
Running to the kitchen I beg Mom to tell me where my sunglasses and hat are. They have already been taken to the car. I run through the blue door to my dad’s side, pleading with him to pull the black bag from the bottom of the pile. I must retrieve the things that need to go in my beach bag. High on his love of the beach, he doesn’t hesitate. He marvels at my perfect beach bag and obliges. I return to the kitchen to pack my own snacks, and after much turmoil decide the rainbow towel will have to stay put in Mom’s big straw bag. My bag is too small.
And then my bag being small reminds me that I am small and that the waves are big and the seagulls are probably loud. I look back and forth between my bag and Mom busy in the kitchen and Daddy rushing in and out as he whistles.
I want to go on an adventure, and also I’m scared. I turn around and look at Grandma, still sitting back on the couch, watching all the action.
I’ve noticed that with old people. They watch a lot. It seems kind of boring to me, but sometimes I wonder if the watching is what gives Grandma her magic.
“Love, come sit with me. Tell me about that spectacular bag you have!”
As I tell her the story of the beach party we had at school to celebrate going to kindergarten she holds me tight, and I decide if Grandma is going to the beach I think I will, too.