Summerland in November

“Daddy, Daddy! Me and mommy are going to the beeeeeach!” sings Ayay with delight.

“You are?” asks F. I can sense his envy. Of course he’d rather be at the sunny beach than in a florescent-lit hospital.

He asks, “Which beach? Goleta? Hendry’s? Leadbetter? Butterfly? Miramar?”

Ayay answers, “One we’ve never ever EVER been to before!”

“We’re going to Summerland,” I shout from the bedroom as I pack up Ayay’s pink Ariel swimsuit, velour hoody sweatshirt, and colorful plastic sand shovels.

“And no need to feel jealous,” I add. “Sometimes there are horseback riders at Summerland.” (F has an irrational fear of horses.)

“Mommy. Don’t forget my pink stripey towel!”

Ah yes, into the bag goes Ayay’s beach towel.

We spend the morning at Summerland beach playing and chatting with our friends. Ayay and her partner in crime dance around in their swimsuits while digging in the warm sand, filling containers big and small, and making “ice cream cones” for their mommies. At one point they scamper toward the water, quick as the sanderlings, in search of more sticks so that they can build a house. Meanwhile, my friend and I are perched on a piece of driftwood, watching the pelicans sky dive into the water. Ooh, is that Santa Cruz I see, or Santa Rosa? I really need to get familiar with those Channel Islands, I think to myself. As we talk about kids, doctor-husbands, weddings, and the holidays, I’m scanning the water hoping to spot a pod of dolphins. No such luck. Oh, well. Maybe next week…

I couldn’t have picked a better time or place to be a stay at home mom.


One response to “Summerland in November

  1. Your writing is amazing. I feel like I’m there, and may I say that I’m insanely jealous, as it hasn’t risen above 45 here…

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