During our weekend in Galveston, I got the chance to go for a walk on the beach with each of the kids. By themselves–a bit of a rarity in our household. Very special, indeed.
I don’t think I could have had three more different walks with three more different kids if I had visited Cancun, Ireland, and Australia. (Nate didn’t get a walk. More on that later.)
True to his chatterbox form, Sam talked for our whole walk. When he had enough of talking to me, he tried to stop the only other people out on this February Monday morning.
When those people didn’t respond, he went right back to chatting to me.
Determined to make these walks about the kids, and what was on their minds, I tried my best not to say much. I’m not sure if Sam noticed that or not.
Sam’s goal was to RUN AS FAR INTO THE WATER as I would allow him to. Curious to see how far he would go, and knowing there was no danger, I let him run as far as he wanted. He made it about waist-high before he got cold. And before he remembered that sharks live in the Gulf.
Sam is not what you (or anyone) would call a shell connoisseur. We brought a bucket to collect shells–and he did fling in a few when he thought of it. Really it was the bull in the china shop equivalent of shell hunting. He would pick up the delicate things and flail them in. And then he would run screaming back into the water. And then he would yell to me to check if he was going too far.
The biggest surprise of our walk was that Sam asked me if he could write his name in the sand. Maybe Elisabeth had reported that she did this. Maybe he knows that I really want him to WANT to write his name. Or maybe the sand was so smooth and soft, he wanted to leave his mark.
It’s not perfect, but I’m so glad he tried to write his name.
Before he ran back out into the water.
