Chicken Soup for the Beach Lover's Soul Read Online Free PDF Page A

off. I can tell. It’s going to be a great beach day.”
    They’re still magic words. They make my wife and I look at the papers and junk mail that have piled up on the counters. We glance at the shopping list on the fridge and the vacuum, standing neglected in the corner. And then— just for the day—we turn our backs on it all and drive down to meet them.
    My wife and I do most of the work now. We play the pack mules, carrying down their chairs, umbrella, and towels, along with our own stuff. Dad’s job is to steady Mom as she ambles along (she’s doing better now with her walking: two years back, we had to push her to the shore all season in a special, fat-tired beach wheelchair). Sometimes Billy joins us, and sometimes a grandkid or two.
    Mom and Dad don’t ride the waves or take shell-seeking walks anymore. But there’s no complaining. They still eat beach-stand hamburgers, soak in the sights, and talk, their toes shoved into the sand.
    The old cues surround us—the coconut smell of sun-block, the hiss and crash of the waves, the cry of gulls. Everything seems timeless, and everyone ageless. The happy sounds of nearby kids skipping and digging and splashing bring back the sounds of our children when they were little—and us, not so long before that.
    â€œShall we hit the smash-ball?” Dad will suggest.
    â€œWould someone help me up so I can feel the water?” Mom asks.
    We wouldn’t think of turning them down. After all, it’s a beach day—and that means family rules.
    Craig A. Strickland

“I need a lot of stuff at the beach.”
    Reprinted by permission of Stephanie Piro. © 2004 Stephanie Piro.

Family Time
    H appiness often sneaks through a door you didn’t know you left open.
    John Barrymore
    â€œLet’s take the kids to Sanibel Island this spring.” Just like that, my husband, who needs a much-deserved getaway from the pressures of work (and cold, damp Ohio winters), begins to plan our first family beach vacation.
    â€œThat was such a relaxing place. Remember all of the shells that we found?” Smiling at my husband, my heart takes me back over the causeway bridge from Fort Myers, where several years earlier the two of us enjoyed a week at the beach.
    The two of us ate late, leisurely breakfasts in our little pink cottage overlooking the Gulf. The two of us lazily read novels in our beach chairs, moving only to reapply our Coppertone or avoid the incoming tide. The two of us, all aglow from the Florida sun, walked hand in hand for miles along the shore.
    â€œMmm . . . Honey, it would be so great to go back there.” But as I look around my kitchen, past the piles of Clifford the Big Red Dog books to the crayons, stickers, and coloring books strewn across our island countertop, I realize that life is different now. With two little girls in tow, a beach vacation would be anything but relaxing.
    â€œI’ll go online and see if there is someplace for us to stay during the kids’ break from school.”
    â€œMmm . . . okay,” I murmur, trying to sound noncommittal. “We might need something bigger this time, though. I don’t think a little cottage will be roomy enough for the girls and all their gear.”
    Visions of suitcases bursting at the seams with swim diapers, wipes, and baby sunblock cloud my enthusiasm. Will our bags even fit all the clothes we will need for seven days? With sand in everything, the girls will need more than one outfit per day. And what about the laundry? Potty accidents and the inevitable spilled milk will create a very real need for a good washer and dryer. So much for my quaint beach cottage.
    Begrudgingly, I agree to a family-size condo, complete with laundry facilities and kitchenette. Our girls, aware of upcoming adventure, are abuzz with excitement. Like little bees, they flutter about the house, donning new sun hats and flip-flops. “We are going to build big sand