Beach Therapy

In a rare, and completely out of character, spontaneous moment, E and I decided late Friday night to rise early Saturday and load up the car with a bag (or five). It was beach or bust. We reached Lakeshore Drive, parked and like sherpas, carried 47 tons of beach gear and toys over the grassy knoll, when I think I may have heard a heavenly chorus. There before us stretched beach and endless water. And now, I think I'm regretting that we've lived here a year without considering spending a day like the one we've savored today. The trip cost us nothing but the gas and tolls to get us there, and yet I dare say it's hands down the kids' favorite Chicago activity thus far. They splashed and played, dug and built sandcastles, and looked for shells for a whole day, and were reluctant to leave. They were gloriously happy. And really, my own sadly tormented mind was unable to construct any reason to indulge my deep, dark secret fear of sharks in the water, so bonus! A beach where I can actually stick a toe in the water. Yes!

We came home, some of us a little too pink, all tired and content. As I hugged the kids goodnight, they said it was the best day. I love that.