The boys and I woke up Sunday morning and decided to start the cloudy day with a sandy walk on the beach.
We probably should have been moving a turkey from the freezer to the fridge, to allow for proper thawing time, or searching through hand me down recipe cards for that green bean casserole recipe, you know THE one. I can hold onto a good recipe card with religious like devotion and will search for it with just as much fervor as my rosary toting grandmother did the prayer cards she'd tuck into her purse after mass and then handout to the grand kids like other, slightly more "normal" grandmothers, would sweet candy. But we weren't.
We weren't doing any of the things we should have and somehow were doing just what we needed. We were out walking. Together.
We were a completely pointless motley crew with no thought towards setting a course; no concern for where we'd end up, just somehow grateful for the going. We must have looked a ridiculous bunch turning this way and that to avoid the high, and steadily, rising tide, until one boy, with sweet surrender smeared across his salty face, was in the water and then two.
Charlie and I sat for a stolen moment to wonder about this life of ours and just how it was we were so lucky when the cards were dealt this go round. We wondered too, like silly parents often will, whether anyone thought to bring a towel and, also, who locked the car and how will we ever get all of that sand out of Sean's shorts. But mostly we listened to the giggles of two little boys rise in chorus with the surf and agreed that we are pretty darn lucky.
It was beautiful. And short. And so very much the perfect way to start the week, that one Sunday before Thanksgiving.
Join me if you please for a sweet link up with friends.