Sand in my Swimmers

There's sand in my swimmers.  That's a good thing ... isn't it?

Sand in my swimmers usually means I have had an AWESOME time at the beach (one of my all-time favourite places.)  This time, I'm not so sure.

I've loved swimming at the beach (usually at the Sunshine Coast) since I was small.  My Dad would take me out deep and wait for The Perfect Wave while I lay on my tummy on our inflatable raft, and then The Perfect wave would come and he'd give the raft a huge push and ... !! Wow!

I can't describe the joy and exhilaration I felt as my raft skidded over the water as I rode it right to the shore.  Up I'd hop, grab my raft and head back to Dad, who was busy squandering his own personal swimming time on finding more Perfect Waves for his little girl.

I remember catching the three Most Perfect Waves of my life at Kiama when I was a teenager.  The water was rough and choppy that day, so it was only because of Dad that I could actually catch any waves at all.  The first part of the ride was spent with me up on top of the crest of the wave, wondering if the wave would slip out from under me and leave me behind.  But then, as I pushed the nose of my raft (or board, by that age) downwards, I moved to the front of the wave and fell flat downwards the meter or so to the water below (bump, bump!) and continued to be pushed along by the lower part of the wave, all the way up the beach.  And there was my Dad, squandering his own swimming time so he could cheer me on.

I swam with Mr de Elba at the Sunshine Coast when we were engaged and I swam with him again on our Honeymoon.  I swam with him when I was pregnant for the first time.  We always caught as many waves as we wanted to. 

All my life, I've stayed out in the water so long that my lips went blue and I got sand all through my swimmers.

Swimming at the beach is a little different now.  I have just come home from three lovely days at the Sunshine Coast, staying with Mr de Elba's sister and her family.  I thought my three children loved the water, but this time, I noticed a distrubing trend.

The Pool:

The Beach:

The water was perfect!  So warm, so inviting!  But my firstborn required a lot of encouragement to get into the water, my secondborn kept moaning "Can we go home?  I don't yike the beach!  Its not quiet!" and my thirdborn put on his Scared Eyes and started crying when he felt the water swirling around.

I remembered my own dear Dad* who squandered his own swimming time on finding Perfect Waves for his little girl, and this time at the beach, I squandered my own time doing the same for my little boy.  And it was wonderful.

Mr de Elba did arrange for a few minutes of child-free swimming time for me though, and I dashed off quickly before he could change his mind (or I could hear any of my children crying!)  Bless His Heart! He knows what I love!  Could I ride in three good waves?  I was desperate to try.

I caught one wave, and rode it nearly to the shore.

Then the clouds came over and it got choppy and rough. 

I got dumped by one wave.

Then I nearly got killed by about ten waves.


Then the surf patrols found some sharks and closed the beach.

Still, there's sand in my swimmers.  That means I had fun ... doesn't it?

---------------------------------------------
* Speaking fondly of one's parents in the past tense can sound like they are deceased, as I discovered during proof-reading.  In this case however it is not the situation.  My own dear Dad is still available for riding in more waves, which I hope to do with him one day.