We were both worried. We were quite concerned, truth be told. Russell and I had taken [S] to the beach and the pool several times, but each time she touched the sand or came near the water she cried and screamed as if she were being tortured. This was distressing given her parents’ innate love of the water, be it swimming, splashing, playing or just soaking. But our daughter made it clear that any body of water, excepting her tepid bath water, was off limits and out of bounds.
Yesterday, Russell called an audible. (This is a football reference. It means that he went off script and called his own play. I think I’ve just mixed metaphors. For those of you wondering, no, I had no idea what calling an audible meant before yesterday.) He looked at me mid-morning and said, “We’re going to the beach. You need that.” He mowed the lawn. I did laundry. [S] took a nap. And then we packed up and headed to Torii Station.
Thanks to the [S]-sized beach shoes given to us by our former neighbors, [S] tolerated walking on the beach without fussing for the first time ever. As we neared the Sea, [S] began making high-pitched chirping noises, expressing her discomfort. But we continued walking as her father waded into the water. Before she knew it, she was wading in the water also.
Next to the fact that she went into the water willingly, the biggest surprise was that she enjoyed being in the water. After her dip, she spent the rest of the afternoon playing in the sand, with her bucket and pink shovel.
It was a fantastic day.
Well done, Husband. Well done.