Last Sunday evening, Sarah and I were kidnapped by a certain Crazy Man. (Would you get into a car with this guy?)
We were ferried to an undisclosed location where it quickly became apparent that our Crazy Man escort was a skilled skipper. In fact, he was so skilled that he graciously gave Sarah a lesson in the finer details of the art.
As we skipped (Steve and Sarah) and stumbled (me) our way over the dunes, our destination finally came into view.
Suddenly, we were transformed into the Seafaring Smiths.
Sarah busied herself with the time honored art of drawing a heart in the sand.
After she had finished, we walked down the beach for another ten or fifteen minutes. On the way back, she ran up ahead of us to find her heart but had a little difficulty with her search. Since the sound of the ocean made it hard to talk, I looked up and saw this pantomime.
We never did find the mysteriously disappearing heart. But that’s okay.
Because there was plenty of “heart” elsewhere. As in, “I heart this man.”
This aforementioned man of mine and I decided that it would be fun to do a spoof of those TV shows where you see a wonderfully toned and tanned couple running along the beach looking unapproachably cool and suave and sending out beams of intimidating elite-esque-ness. We also thought that he and I running on the beach would be a great way to entertain our daughter and infuse her with galvanizing gusts of uncontrolled merriment.
So we gave her the camera. We got into position. We told her to start taking pictures as soon as we started running.
But alas, something happened that waylaid our plans and instead of running, we both started pointing and shouting. Sarah, being effectively brainwashed by her mother that one should take pictures of anything and everything, started snapping pictures of her frantic (and non-running ) parents.
We were both screeching over the roar of the waves, “Sarah! Birds! Take a picture of the birds!” She finally got the message and swung the camera around to capture this lovely sight.
And then it was finally time to run. (Or jog. Sort of. A little. Ish.)
I especially love this pictures. Steve is looking all energized and happy like, “Isn’t this such great fun?” And I am looking like, “Um. Hello? Is it time yet to fall on the ground and wail and flail in exhausted agony?”
But I survived to walk another day.
And so ended our brief seafaring journey—a journey that led us to a place of peace.