Laugh Lines: No kids, no chaos and a swimsuit that actually stays put
I walk effortlessly onto the beach with supplies for one: sunblock, towel, chair, book, water bottle.
Without so much as a subcommittee meeting, I decide where I want to set up, spread out my towel and kick off my sandals. I sit and stare at the ocean.
For the first time in decades, I’m not in charge of anyone. I don’t have to monitor sunburns, swim time, spouses or snacks.
A number of things fell into place for me to achieve this milestone. My four children grew up, bless them. I am not yet a grandmother (though I am extremely open to the concept — no pressure, kids!). Our family pets, of which I was in charge, crossed the rainbow bridge after achieving the impressive ages of 20 for the cat and 14 for the dog. The stream of young people (my own and surrogate) that I allowed to crash at my place in between jobs or relationships has abated. Oh, and I got divorced.
Summer “vacation” used to mean miraculously locating a last-minute, affordable beach rental within minivan driving distance that slept six and was dog- and cat-friendly. Then it was up to me to organize and pack clothes, bedding, groceries and gear for everyone. And that barely covered one week of summer. The remainder consisted of day camp sign-ups, playdate drop-offs, swim lessons at the town pool, lightning bug hunts and grandparent visits.
I believed, while raising my family, that I would never again read a book on the beach; never not be wrangling a kid; never even attempt a walk, lie down or swim without a serious time constraint.
On this particular midsummer morning, I’m day-tripping to a local public beach because it doesn’t involve managing logistics equivalent to the invasion of Normandy. I get in the car and go.
My life is my own. Single. Pet free. Kid free. Fancy free. It feels like playing hooky, almost as if I might get in trouble. Seated placidly at my encampment for one, I exhale.
Another personal triumph — the battle of the bathing suit is finally over. I did not win and, at 60-something, I have no more bleeps left to give. The Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue paparazzi are not following me onto the beach.
I’ve been shedding a lot of things lately, but not weight. After birthing 40 pounds worth of humans, my youngest over 20 years ago, I’ve given up trying to lose those stubborn pregnancy pounds. I seek out sensible swimwear and find something called a Women’s Tugless High Neck Swim Dress Swimsuit. This is not about appearance but about comfort and function. I want to swim without anything unexpectedly popping out.
I hear children yell with excitement. I look up from my book and smile. A young family sets up nearby, juggling little kids, buckets, wagons, a playpen, coolers, hoodies, umbrellas and flip-flops. Before I know it, I’m watching them like a binge-worthy series I can’t turn away from.
I marvel at the children, the seashell hunts, the tantrums, the energy, the frolicking in the surf. Now I’m talking to myself.
Really? Towels so close to the water with the tide coming in?
I could offer to hold the baby. Is that creepy?
That umbrella is going to blow away with the first breeze.
Do you not see that wave?
Just as my busy, kid-rearing days came to an end, I suspect my current hands-free stage won’t last forever. I’ll embrace it for now.
Or, I might stroll over there to see if they need help building that sandcastle. The woman in the sensible bathing suit digs a mean moat!
