Beaming Down.

The rocking of the waves undulating on the beach keeps a steady cadence, a gentle afternoon lullaby under the brilliant sunlight. The fingers of my left hand play idly with the silky grains of hot sand and the unfamiliar warmth of contentment soaks into my very soul.

Desperate to escape the mind-numbing emptiness that long weekends bring, we’ve escaped the city for the beach. Twelve hours of driving for 36 hours away from it all. 36 hours of ignoring the phone, no matter what missive it delivers, and absolutely no cooking or cleaning. 

We’re hotel camping in our bathing suits and beach towels with sun, surf and sleep on the agenda.

My children are now nearly 9 and half past 10. For an entire decade I have been on high alert, first time motherhood transitioning quickly to the challenge of chasing two under two and juggling a high-pressure career, the innate desire to deliver perfection and daily investments in a loving marriage. Then, along with the global economy, the bottom fell out and high alert went exponentially higher. I feared every risk that might hurt them or take them from me, my external anxiety matched by the internal one. And I turned inward to protect myself.

Protect them at all costs but raise them to be independent and free. But how, when every second of my existence had become laced with the fear that they would disappear too?

Over the sound of the waves I hear the tinkling of their laughter and I peek through my lashes. They’ve been riding the waves for hours, content to let the ocean sweep them back and forth, and I am content to let them do so. Soon the sun will set and we’ll watch ribbons of color lace the sky, a beautiful goodbye as the sun sinks into the ocean’s horizon.

Tomorrow we have to return to reality and race to keep up as the summer’s end closes in. But today we’ll soak up everything and nothing.

Wrapped in beams of sunlight and peals of laughter.