It’s Summertime

Well, it finally has arrived.

Summer.

Summer is a time that both the very youngest and the very oldest among us look forward to. And depending on who you ask, I probably fall into one, if not both, of those categories.

As a kindergarten paraprofessional, I can assure you an entire summer without kids makes me both happy and sad at the exact same time. But I was only allowed to be lonely for about two days because, unbeknownst to me, The Wife had secretly booked a beach vacation for our anniversary. Four days and three nights at Mexico Beach, FL. I thought that was incredibly romantic.

But then…

She informed me our two granddaughters, their mother, her oldest son, and apparently half the known population of Georgia were also going with us. Still, I tried to look on the positive side of the situation. I had just gone from taking care of 17 kindergarten students for 7.5 hours a day down to only 4 children. And really, if you ask them, they can completely take care of themselves.

Until they want something to eat.

Or somewhere to go.

Or money for jet ski rentals.

Or beach umbrellas.

Or beach chairs.

Or ice cream.

Or another snack thirty minutes after the first snack.

Other than that, they don’t need us at all because, of course, they’re “on vacation.”

Now first, let me explain this beach house situation. When someone says, “We rented a beach house,” you naturally picture a peaceful little place sitting directly on the sand with waves gently rolling outside the back door.

Nope.

This beach house is technically “near” the beach. And by “near,” I mean roughly a quarter mile down a paved road while pulling a wagon roughly the size and weight of a covered pioneer wagon headed west in 1847. Now, the rental did come with a large beach cart, which sounds wonderful until you realize that thing gets loaded with the long list of must-have beach items:

Towels

Folding chairs

Coolers

Beach bags

Giant water bottles

Sunscreen

Snacks

Umbrellas

Every beach toy known to mankind

And approximately fourteen items nobody actually needs, but somehow will become “essential” as soon as we get to the beach.

Then after surviving the paved road journey, you still have another hundred feet of blazing hot, white sand to cross before reaching the water. Guess who gets to pull the cart through the blazing sand while everyone else casually strolls ahead carrying nothing but positive attitudes? 

Yes, Dear Reader, that would be me, the person supposedly relaxing on his summer break from school. And if that wasn’t enough exercise, this year we purchased two gigantic kites. Not little dollar-store kites either. These things are apparently visible from low-flying aircraft.

One is a five-foot-wide toucan. The other is an eight-foot giant dragon.

Of course, the Girly Girls wanted them flown immediately despite the fact the beach wind was strong enough to remove roof shingles. So, there I stood, in the Florida sunshine wrestling what felt like two airborne parade balloons while the kids all shouted.

“Higher, Papa! Higher!”

“Not hers! Mine!”

“Why is my kite crashing into the ocean?”

Meanwhile, the dragon kite nearly dragged me halfway to Alabama. Of course, every beach trip also involves the endless back-and-forth journeys.

“Papa, can you go get my goggles?”

“Papa, I forgot my slides.”

“Papa, can you go back and get chips?”

“Papa, I think my phone is at the house.”

By the third trip through ankle-deep sand carrying enough supplies to open a small convenience store, I began to realize something shocking. Teaching kindergarten might actually be more restful. At least in kindergarten, I can sit down in the little chairs. (Although getting up is harder than trudging through beach sand.) Still, to be fair, there really is a good part to all this.

Watching family together.

I remember when our granddaughters were still in kindergarten themselves. It seems like yesterday. Parents always say kids grow up fast, and they are absolutely right. 

So do granddaughters.

On their very first beach trip, the Girly Girls could barely walk to the water’s edge. The second those tiny toes touched the cold ocean water, they screamed, turned around, and ran away crying.

They don’t do that anymore.

Now they run straight into the waves without hesitation while I stand fifty yards away protecting beach chairs and trying not to get hit by a giant dragon kite. And somewhere in the middle of all the chaos – the sand, the noise, the carts, the sunscreen, the forgotten snacks, and the endless walking back and forth to get stuff – you suddenly realize these are the moments you’ll remember later.

Even the exhausting ones.

Still…if you’re counting, there are only 68 more days until we go back to school.
And after this “quiet, relaxing vacation,” a room full of 17 kindergartners is starting to sound more and more peaceful every day.