We were at Pop-pop’s beach for a glorious week, and my children, the ones who make getting up any given day during the school year a hellish feat to accomplish, were now getting up at the butt-crack of dawn to go hit the waves.
Fine! Great! Go get some exercise and work on your future melanomas! I’ll have breakfast waiting for you when you’re driven back to the cottage by pangs of hunger, and the need of first aid.
One. Small. Problem.
The lifeguards at Sussex Shores don’t come on duty until 10:00am. And while I trust your swimming abilities, the ocean can be unforgiving….
and I can’t replace you numbskulls.
Everyone looked at My Captain, who had just emerged from the bedroom, sleepy-eyed, unshaven, and scratching himself. He had no idea what was coming.
“PLEEEEEEAAAAAAASEEEEE? Oh please won’t you come down to the beach and watch us so we can go swimming NOW, and don’t have to wait for the guards?”
“You’re the best Troy in the whole world! Please won’t you do this for us? We’ll just die of boredom if you don’t!”
“We’ll be good all day, and put the dishes away without asking and everything!”
He threw me a look of condemnation, as if it was my idea to begin with (which I will neither confirm or deny) and told them to at least let him go pee first. I gave him a grateful hug and assured him that I would come down to the beach, too, bring him a cup of coffee, and help watch the brats.
Which I did.
a couple of moments
to take pictures
of the kids playing in
summer morning sunshine, and of his
tall, dark and handsome,
sinewy, hard-framed, totally-in-shape-without-even-trying,
tall, wide-shouldered, narrow hipped, long-legged drink of water,
fantastically classically profiled,
Are you going to help me, or what?
(He never DID get his coffee…..)