Sandy Dreams

We slept soundly over the miles, the car swaying gently with the smooth asphalt rolling beneath it. How many times have I done this? I recall warm, liquid nights with the windows rolled down, stars winking in the sky. Balmy smells of hay, cut grass, musky horse and the occasional chicken house wafting in like a wave. We passengers are cocooned snugly with our pillows and blankets, Cornnut and Cheez-Its crumbs everywhere. If it's a day trip, there will be pecan rolls. It's the South and it's mandatory.

This time, however, it's a different season. There are no stops to nurse a baby or change a diaper. It's our annual beach trip and Papa decided that instead of waiting for morning, we'd leave at nightfall and drive through the night. He's rarely spontaneous, normally requiring an act of Congress to change any plans. He should have been in the military, but God had other ideas. He'd be a five-star general by now. Either way, we gleefully pile into my SUV, Papa and I, our daughter and her boyfriend. My sensible side wonders at how this is going to go, but as we pull into the beach house at 4:00 in the morning, I can't help but feel like a kid again. Only this time we're the old folks and there's a boatload of munchkins waiting for us. 

When my life was thick with the joyful raising of our four children, the earth spinning like a top, I forgot to notice that they were growing up. It was hard to believe that life would ever change from the tyranny of the urgent. My sweet babies' faces, their sincere love, their happy welcoming arms whenever I returned home from somewhere...all those thousands of things that get taken for granted. Now I see them parenting our grandchildren, and I am amazed at their energy, their tenacity, their dedication. Was I ever that strong? Was I ever that young? We see our children and grandchildren often, but this one week a year we live like sardines and remember. 

There's food and coffee and late-night games and movies. It takes half a morning to get down to the beach then half an afternoon to get back. We're burnt, sore and hungry. The kids are giddy, heady with cousin-play.  We take turns cooking, and this year's cuisine is scrumptious. Our jobs and home responsibilities are afar off. Naps are luxurious indulgences. We have church, sing, pray. There's books, snacks, drinks. But especially, there's my people. Soft baby arms reach for hugs,  Papa plays and jokes, the Mamas and Daddys help each other make it work. There's nothing and then there's everything. Peace, tension, resolution, popcorn. We are blessed.