We have lived in the Los Angeles area for two years now, and had not, until last weekend, ever taken a family trip to the beach. We've all been to the beach, just not together. On our last weekend together before school starts, we figured it was about time. We packed up the Durango; a cooler full of Gatorade, water, fruit, and sandwiches; chairs; umbrellas; towels; snacks; games; books; sand toys; and six children--and headed for Manhattan Beach, which made me feel closer to my dear friend, Luisa.
Apparently, my husband hates sand even more than I do. Having never been to the beach with him, this struck me as odd, considering that he isn't even close to being the tidiest person I've ever met. He spread out a huge blanket and designated it the "Sand-Free Zone", and no one dared to kick sand onto it, except Conor. Adam worked tirelessly keeping the Sand-Free Zone sand-free, which was funny to watch. Just when you get it clean, the sand shows up again. "Welcome to my life," I said, watching him brushing off sand over and over again. In this zone, he and the girls played card and dice games and I read my latest fave from the Arbinger Institute, The Anatomy of Peace. The boys played at the water's edge gathering sand crabs and filling buckets with them. Conor, as it turns out, LOVES the beach. The sand, the water, the waves, the birds. All of it. The day was a delight. I think as a family, we pretty much rock.