Beach and water fun for summer is the theme this week . This brings back memories of “the ole swimming hole” on the farm where I grew up.  Two brooks joined in the pasture and made a pool deep enough for Mother to teach us four children to swim.  There we cooled off after a day in the hay fields or working in the garden.

Image: sxc.hu

On family vacations, we often visited my aunt and uncle and spent a day or two at York Beach, Maine…my aunt’s favorite beach.  We had a taste of swimming in salt water and looked forward to this experience each summer.

I have photos to accompany these memories and should incorporate them with the stories in a journal, a scrapbook, or a digital scrapbook.

What memories do you have of beach and water fun?  What memories are you making with your children?

Write these down, combine them with photos, create scrapbooking pages.

You should be here. Really, every mother should at least once a year. Here, a place away from the schedules and the obligations and the day-to-day goings on.

When I packed my bags three days ago and headed to the beach with my five girlfriends (we have been doing this 17 years now) I left my husband a note. It reminded him of Graham’s birthday party Wednesday afternoon and Caleb’s on Sunday. It told him who got which present, which were all wrapped on the kitchen table and ready to go. I packed outfits for Truman (who spent a couple nights with the in-laws since Rick leaves for work before Truman wakes) and laid out his cleats, T-ball jersey and baseball pants so he would be ready for the big game on Saturday. I reminded Rick that there was leftover Old School Jambalaya in the freezer, and packages of hot dogs and buns in the fridge. I said that I knew he was completely capable of taking care of himself, (“I’m 40. I’m a man.”) but that I liked to feel that he couldn’t live without me.

When I packed my bags for this annual beach trip, I packed up my anxiety as well. It wore me on the first day here, reminding me that the most important people in my life are fending for themselves hundreds of miles away. It interrupted my thoughts when I tried to relax, telling me that there were assignments left undone and documents that would still need to be found for Truman’s Kindergarten registration. And, of course, there were those more intangible stresses to labor over, like the fear of growing old and gaining weight and not looking like we did when we were in college.

The six of us were sitting on the beach yesterday, reading Elizabeth Edward’s book Resilience and trying to decide what we thought about John and whether Elizabeth would have stayed with him if she were not terminal. It’s easy to talk about the people you cannot touch. We were caught up on our own world, somewhat oblivious to the others around us – the family with the blond-haired boy who giggled like my son, the two young bikinied girls walking with a group of boys, the beach monger who called us ma’am. They weaved through our vision, breaking our conversation only long enough for us to reminisce about days gone by.

The six of us rarely see each other during the course of the year. We live in different states or cities. We have lives that obligate us and responsibilities that keep us busy. And yet, when we get together for this annual beach trip our lives blend together. We share our dreams and disappointments and the secrets that bind us. It is therapy.

Last night, after eating too much food at a new restaurant here, we did the usual – we lay together in one bed and talked and laughed and played with each other’s hair. We talked about the people we once knew and agreed that being 40 was not all that bed.

And for the first time in three weeks, I slept through the night.

photos, JWJourney

Every mother deserves some down time. Mine, this week, is at the beach with five of my old sorority sisters. I hate to admit how difficult it is for me to leave my family. But the minute the first friend arrives and we load up the car and head to the beach, I’m recovered.

Today I slept until 7:30 a.m., ate two cinnamon rolls, got a massage and read People magazine on the beach until my skin was scorched. I caught American Idol’s Adam Lambert’s version of U2’s One on my iPhone (heart) while poolside and sat in a hot tub drinking fru-fru festive drinks. Now, with wine in hand, our biggest decision is where to go for dinner. We have reservations at three different restaurants. Where should we go? Boraggo’s, Café 30-A or Onano?

photo, JWJourney

Here in the Northeast of the U.S., we have endured very strange Spring weather. Winter didn’t actually leave us until early April, then we went through a heat-wave in May, and then a rash of dangerous flooding in June.

But today, July 1st…it’s a glorious day, it’s hot in that way I remember as a kid…there’s just something in the air that says beach.

But alas, I am not in beach condition…I had all of those winter months to get ready…but I did nothing. Even Kirstie Alley got off her duff and lost a ton of wieght.

I blame my slovenliness and lack of fetching beach attire on fate and entrepreneurship.

You see, if I hadn’t worked in corporate America, and I didn’t meet more than my share of crazy female bosses, and never experienced how freaking cold it is at 7a.m. on a ferry, crossing the Hudson River to lower Manhattan, then I wouldn’t have begun to think “This is nuts…I need to be working for myself–in my home–with my dog…”

I wouldn’t have begun to stay up till all hours of the day and night, figuring out my business plan. I wouldn’t have started The Pet Set, or won an award or reached over a hundred new customers. Which means, I wouldn’t have tossed my chic, slender suits in favor of loose-fitting “lounge-wear”–as a result of “testing” most of Rachael Ray’s recipes.

If none of that had happened, I would have been to the gym near my Wall Street office and I’d be ready for the beach!

So, this year, it’s t-shirts and flowy skirts…those are just as cute, right?
See, everything happens for a reason…time to shop!