So, this morning I threw caution and common sense to the wind, loaded up 2 kids (the other one wanted to sleep) and we went to Tybee Island. The beach was busy, for February, as the tide was on it’s way out and tourists knew the value of seashells during a waning tide.
There were the requisite pelicans, and seagulls, and oyster shells (ugly things, those). There was the expected teenage girl drawing big hearts in the sand, with “Hannah+Mitch” in the middle, and taking a picture of it with her phone. And me, overweight housewife picking through the small shells with her 8 yr old son, looking for pretty ones to glue onto a frame, then needing #3′s help to get up. I’m glad he was there, for I woulda just sat there ’til dark before I would crawl to the boardwalk to haul my fat self up. *sigh*. It’s not the fat. It’s the still somewhat weak hip. It’s getting better, but it’s still not quite there yet.
/aside. The Good Dr. S, my orthopedist, checked me yesterday, and gave me the go-ahead to do whatever I wanted, except for kickboxing. “Even skydiving?” I queried. He looked thoughtful and said “Yes, even skydiving.” I really have no desire to skydive, but knowing that I CAN if I want to, that’s enough in itself. I’ve been told all my life that I can’t ski, or skydive, or horseback ride, or perform in Circe du Soleil, and now I have permission from a medical professional to do just those things. My life is a little bit richer for knowing I CAN, if I want to.
It was warm on Tybee today. 65 with a very light breeze. There was no sign of garulous policemen, and I only saw one person (relatively) scantily clad, and she was running. The seagulls were not particularly aggressive, but they certainly showed know fear, letting you get within just a foor to two of them before lazily hopping away. “He knows I don’t have a rock to throw.” said #3.
Lunch was at The Flying Fish, where I had another bowl of crab stew (It wasn’t as good this time as it was last, not as creamy), #3 had a plate full of fried cow booger…I mean…oysters, which he said were Quite Good, and #4 had an enormous plate of beer battered homemade fishsticks. Now THOSE were good. There were more than he could eat, so #3 and I helped him out. #3 bullied #4 into trying a cow boog…um…oyster, and #4 ate with great fear and trepidation, but loudly announced to the whole restaurant that “WOW! Those are GOOD!” They were little boog…er…oysters, about the size of the end of your thumb, which I’ve heard make the tastiest fried.
The ride home was quiet, punctuated with the gentle snores of #3 and Garth Brooks wailing on about friends in low places. The only thing that would have improved the trip would have been having Sweet Daddio along. Next time.
Filed under: family
I am thinking about loading the kids into the car and heading toward Tybee Island. It’s exactly this sort of spontaneous thing I never ever do.
In fact, right now this very minute, my mind is saying things like “Oh~ the cost of gas!” and “You have all that laundry to do!” and “You’d have to buy lunch and that would cost money you could spend somewhere else!” You know, the usual justifications I use for talking myself out of some harmless fun.
See, that’s the story of my life. It’s the Calvinist in me. Frivolity for it’s own sake is suspect. Even if it involves nothing more sinister than a 1 hour drive to the beach. For cryin’ out loud, I even have bottled water so I wouldn’t have to shell out the *gasp* $3 for some sodas! I have crackers for snacks! Oranges even! I could make sandwiches! In fact, if I’m careful, the only expense would be 1/4 tank of gas and the parking fee.
I’m feeling like telling Mr. Calvin to take a flying leap.
If I make sure Molly is outside (she’s the cat who will soon be taking up residence at Plant 2 as their Chief Mouser), I can get some stew meat int the crockpot, to convert to Stroganoff when we get home. Sounds like a plan.
I’m going to get dressed. Then I’m going to wake everyone up.