So These Kids Walk Into a Bar. . .

A sandbar, of course. The ocean has been unusually warm and especially rough these days, probably due to the torrential rain that has been plaguing this part of the country. We've missed out on most of the rain, but are feeling the effects of the weather in the sea instead.

Only a few feet out from the shore line, Carter and I first discovered the sandbar. Since it is typically just me and three kids at the beach, I tend to keep the boys as close as I can to both land and lifeguards, not giving them much opportunity to go in past their hips. Charlotte is content to observe the boys' ocean antics from her seat on my hip. Will has always loved jumping in the waves, but Carter is usually more content to splash around in the surf. I believe that he thought that was the real draw of the ocean--splashing around, throwing the occasional handful of sand into the water, jumping over a wave or two. But, in just over this sand bar, he could swim. The water here is deep, at about Carter's waist, yet only ankle deep on either side, Carter's own private pool.

Since this discovery, I have a hard time getting Carter out of the water. I love watching Carter swim. I'm not the only one, either. His happiness in the water is contagious. At swimming lessons in our pool at home, Carter has such a good time, he swims with his mouth in a wide-open smile. He's always swallowing water that way, but he just can't contain his excitement. Now that he know that the ocean is for swimming, not just for jumping over waves, it has much more appeal to him. Face in the water, he shows off his strokes in the brief moment between waves, and then lets the waves carry his little body to shore. He'll jump up, throwing hands in the air as if he has just completed a complicated gymnastics move and exclaims, "Carter is washing up!"

Today, Will joined him in the fun. Both boys ventured out to the sand bar and these flotsam and jetsam brothers spent the day diving under waves, coming up with handfuls of sand and shells, then letting the water carry them back ashore. There, they'd bask in the sun on their tummies, tanned arms propping them up, like two skinny walruses, and let the water lap up over their backs. When the waves weren't strong enough to carry them up onto the sand, they'd furiously crawl, a wet, splashy race up to the beach. Sometimes, a strong wave would catch them by surprise and the boys would get tangled together, washing ashore pell-mell, clearly not knowing whose legs were whose. Pearly grains of sand coated their skin and the salty water stung their eyes. But these nuisances remained unnoticed as they bobbed up and down, back and forth, as hours flew by like minutes.

As the tide rolled in, our beach chairs and toys were soon covered with water. Time to head home. The boys sadly left their place in the sand, as we left the beach, our feet tip-toeing over the hot sand. We've made a date to go back to this bar tomorrow, sand and all.