Footprints in the sand

Dear Jadyn and Liana,

Before the memories of this past weekend start to fade quickly into memories of today's tantrums and crying and hitting and fighting, I wanted to be sure to jot down some of the highlights of your first beach trip. Sure, I have pictures of your first walk in the sand, the first wave to wet your toes, and your perfect boardwalk attire.

But, as the subtitle of this blog states, some things just can't be captured in photographs -- especially when Mama and Dada are too busy using both hands trying to herd you between hundreds of people.

We arrived at midnight. You had slept some on the road trip, but not as much as we would have liked. In the nearly three hours you took to settle down and go to sleep (only after a few crackers, by the way), you managed to nearly climb into your pack 'n plays, quacked a dozen or more times, at fake Seagulls (Sure, they're ducks. We'll say anything at midnight, 1 a.m.).

You both took to the still cool-to-the-touch sand immediately, and tromped cautiously, but eagerly through it, not even realizing the destination.

Both pairs of eyes saw the ocean, but disregarded it immediately. It was just wawa, really.

In fact, Jadyn, when we pointed out the waves to you, you waved to the waves. Waved some more.

"No, those things are waves," I said, laughing.

You waved some more.

Liana, it's not an exaggeration that you wouldn't stay still even for a minute. You wanted, desperately, to explore ... well, you wanted to just run freely. You do not like to be controlled. (Hmm. Sounds vaguely familiar ... ?)

In fact, a fellow beach goer, who was nice enough to volunteer to take our family photo, came up to us only an hour into our morning.

"I need to go take a nap after watching her," he said, pointing to you. "Is she always like this -- nonstop?"

Um, yes.

That night, we made our way to the boardwalk, even though you probably needed sleep. No one ever would have suggested that, though, by the way you toddled along the boards one after the other wearing your backpack harnesses. We had to leave the stroller at home in order to fit the half-ton load of baby gear in the car.

We only got one comment about those being cruel, by the way. Then, when he realized, you were twins, he just closed his mouth, and walked away.

Those packs came in handy when, after only walking three blocks in a half hour, we realized that the ice cream stand we were aiming for was never going to happen. So, I kept you on the leashes while The Da! ran down to get the ice cream. When he returned, melted ice cream and all, I was dealing with two toddlers who wanted no parts of going in the same direction and so one -- Can you guess which? -- had a tantrum right on top of a sidewalk decorated with decades of spilled ice cream cones.

It would not take long before we, rightfully so, added our own ice cream splatters. Moose tracks, too.

But, before the ice cream, before we all started to hit the wall of exhaustion, there were some very funny moments. Both of you would stop in front of each beach store playing loud music and dance - each time, drawing a bigger crowd.

We thought, briefly, about putting out an old guitar case to collect some much-needed cash, but that wouldn't have fit in our car, either.

Instead, we pulled/pushed you down the boardwalk some more, and with every single step, you both found another person/object/store display/kite/cigarette butt/sand pile to stop and gawk over.

In the distance, I think you saw the Ferris Wheel. In the distance, you saw some boats. In the distance, you saw an airplane.

I saw my childhood beach memories relived through you. Just wait until next year!