Happy Mother's Day

Today I am remembering little things.  I'm thinking about a Friday, the first summer of my being a single mother to my three children, when I came home from work and announced we were headed out to shop for a few things because I was taking them to the beach in the morning.  It's doubtful there have ever been three happier kids.  The tight budget forced them to choose small toys; buckets and shovels, a cheap fishing rod, a floatie.  I may as well have been buying them most expensive things in the world; they were so excited.  I could barely get them to sleep that night; they giggled and talked far past their bedtime.  I packed our lunch and our beach bag, scolding them from the kitchen to get to sleep but thrilled to hear their stiffled giggles.
It had been one of the most difficult years of my life.  It was time for some happiness; time to make plans; time to start over.

We listened to Jon Secada on tape on the way to the beach that day, just my kids and me, with the windows of my Corolla down and the ridiculous heat, blowing through our hair, reeking of salt.   "Just another day without you...." had us dancing in our seats, laughing as we sang along, feeling the purity of our happiness.  I stopped at a fishing shop and bought my son, Caleb, a whole pound of shrimp bait because I had no idea how much he needed.  He laughed at me then, and again and again as the day wore on, his nine-year old cockiness adorable on his sunburned cheeks. 

After sitting on the beach a while, I took my three-year old daughter, Tavia, down to the water and put her in my lap while I sat in the little waves.  We just talked about the wonder of the ocean, and how much I loved her, and I told her, "Never forget this day.  Think about it often and don't forget it.  It's these moments that mean the most."  She says she remembers, but I think that's only because I've reminded her about it so often. I'll never forget it.  I can still see her little chubby hands clutching mine, the joy in her clear, blue eyes, her wildly curly blonde hair reacting to the humidy, forming ringlets, the adorable space between her front teeth, and her deep, contagious laughter.

Sitting where we were, I watched my other daughter, Chelsea, a sight in her little French cut hot-pink one-piece, flitting up and down the beach, in and out of the water, trying to ride the 3 inch little waves on a little float, and aggravating her brother.  She was tireless.  Her tiny little butt-cheeks were visible as she had a continuous wedgie.  I can still see her, running, laughing and constantly pulling at the fabric riding up her little behind.  She was a vision, blonde hair flying behind her, her skin already browned, and her laughter riding on the breeze.

I don't think we were two miles down the road on our way home that all three were sound asleep, my son's mouth hanging open as it always did when he was especially tired.  That was a very good day. 

This past Friday my son called me and wanted to know what Jon Secada song we listened to. 

I love that he remembers.