Unwrapping an Unexpected Monday

Over 4 years ago, when hubby and I and our then infant decided to move, we were sold on moving to a place sunnier and warmer than gray and dreary New York. The first time I visited Florida, I remember my mom picking me up at the airport and making the drive to my parents’ house, passing palm trees and reveling in the sun-filled skies. It looked like a whole different world than I had ever known. I felt like I was in a sunny utopia. A couple years later, when I landed here in Florida with my daughter and we stopped at a restaurant at the beach along the drive home, I couldn’t take enough pictures of my 18 month old daughter playing in the sand, staring out to sea, and absorbing a whole lot of salty sea.

The ocean tore us away from a life I knew for so long. In all of my life, I had only been to the ocean once – going on vacation with a friend in elementary school to a beach in North Carolina for a week. I remember the feel of the salt in my nose when I went under water, the feel of the sand in my toes. I didn’t like either one.

For four years, I live in Boulder, Colorado, surrounded by the mountains. Hubby was from there and I remember the first time we drove over a hill on 36 between Denver and Boulder and seeing a vast expanse of mountain in front of me. I was in awe. I had truly never seen anything as magnificent. When we chose that as our home, the mountains slowly became an invisible backdrop to our life. I didn’t look out my living room window in awe of a view of the mountains the way I should have. I didn’t go hike like I should have. The mountains were reserved for when guests came to stay. We took out of town friends and family to the mountains each and every time they visited but never on our own. They simply became that which we visited far too rarely.

When we chose to live in a place known for being a tourist hotspot, a place you can come and see a historic city and the beach all at once, I vowed not to let the same fate happen this time around. I promised myself it would not be lost on me that I drive past a beautiful bridge and a gorgeous view each time I drive my son to school. I would appreciate it each and every time. I would embrace the very reason we were drawn here, minutes from the ocean.

After a fun-filled Easter weekend, we piled into the car Sunday night to come back home. Back to reality. I packed lunches, I laid out clothes, I set alarms. I was rudely jolted back to reality this morning, fumbling for coffee, timing how long I could let the kids sleep before I had to wake them for school. Slowly, we got ready – everyone in put together outfits, brushed teeth, and bags in hand, we headed out the door. On the drive, I said, “When I pick you up from school today, how about we go to the beach?” Shouts of glee came from the back seat. I said I would have everything together, they said they’d be ready.

We pulled up to school only to find there was no school. One more day of spring break. This is what I get for being really bad with calendars. With a lunch already packed, my daughter asked from the backseat, “Can we go to the beach now? I have my lunch! We can have a picnic!” We went home, put on swimsuits, sunscreen, and sunglasses and headed out to unwrap the gift of an unexpected day off. A bonus day. A day of pure bliss that none of us expected but all of us needed.

At the beach, the kids wrestled each other in the sand, made sand angels, splashed in the surf all while I sat with my knees tucked to my chest, sand in my toes, taking in the glorious expanse of the magnificent Atlantic Ocean. Then, all three of us walked – me with my camera, them with nothing but childhood joy – and I realized what a gift it is for them to think the ocean and a trip to the beach is a Monday occurrence. How special for them that they will grow up knowing the salty air, loving the feel of sand in their toes. Accepting and appreciating the gift of the ocean on a Monday.

Shared with Tuesdays Unwrapped at Chatting at the Sky. For more unwrapping of small moments in the chaos we call life, please visit her.