After the woods and the farm, we headed to our final destination: Cape Cod. There, we caught up with Husband's family and frolicked. In the salt water, sun and sand. The weather was on the warm side, but never strayed from pleasant. Not too shabby. Not too shabby at all.
Brave as ever, Toddler heads straight for the water. And stands there, waves lapping her tiny feet.
Baby goes for a jog in the sand. (How else do you think she maintains those perfect thighs?)
Toddler fiddles with goggles, preparing for her first tube ride. This mother hangs back, hiding behind a lens, amazed that she has a child old enough to go for a tube ride.
Baby stands alone in the sand watching her Daddy and sister get situated in the tube. She is sad. Doesn't want to be left behind. This mother tells her that maybe she will go for a ride next year. Then this mother hangs back once more, behind the same lens, amazed that her little one is capable of feeling and articulating such emotion.
And they are off. We watch. Baby seemingly awe-struck. This mother, a bit anxious. But happy and proud too.
While her sister is out there, Baby notices her shadow. Together, they dance. This mother is happy to have one child with her still. Here. Because time passes and kids grow and it won't always be this way.
Back at the house, the girls play with Grammy. And chant her name every morning upon waking.
Toddler approaches a bed of daisies. She respects them and lets them stand. Baby grabs one and plucks. It remains for the trip in a tiny vase on the kitchen table.
Baby moseys in the green grass toward the gorgeous garden.
The girls stand in the front row of the Fourth of July parade in Chatham. Wearing blue and white dresses (and red bows on heads I refuse to show you.)
We are treated to a boat ride by Husband's uncle. The wake, white and wide, mesmerizes me. I ask the girls if it looks like a big bubble bath. They say yes.
We spot a glorious cluster of birds. The girls squeal and point. Presumably, the birds feel like celebrities.
From the boat, we see the lighthouse. A squat and sturdy structure. There to cast light on life. To cut through darkness. (Who is your lighthouse? My kids are mine.)
On the boat, something truly magical happens. Toddler, my energetic and independent girl, hops onto my lap and hugs me tight. She rests her head on my shoulder. And stays there for almost twenty minutes, snuggling me. And I sit there in the bright sun, my hair blowing in the water wind, watching things go by, feeling like the luckiest creature on this planet. Loving and feeling loved. (My girl might not always give me these hugs, but I will never forget this.)
On our last night, we go to a clam bake at a local inn. A man (or woman?) dressed as a lobster arrives. And it is love at first sight. I just love him, Mommy, Toddler proclaims in a wistful whisper. One thousand times. She approaches him gingerly, but then captures him in a fierce hug. His name, fittingly, is Larry. (My first love was Larry Bird.)
As we leave the inn, the sun begins to set. A glorious bye bye.
And soon that bright ball disappears. And with it, so does our vacation.
But the memories, the pictures, the hugs? They are here to stay. On this blog. In this mind. In this heart.
Are you ever aware that memories, profound memories, are forming as you experience them? Do you see your blog as a means to memorialize good times in your fast-moving life?