Life's a beach

In years to come, when I look back on the stories, the photos, the memories of my boys as littlies, I'm certain the overriding themes will be fun and family, friends and parties, baking and holidays AND parks and beaches. My Mama often tells me that she doesn't recall us kids being naughty or challenging or rude or bratty. At times, it niggles me slightly. Here I am, in the trenches, dealing with all these behaviours (and more) on a daily basis. I know deep down, we were NOT perfect children. Speaking for myself and my brothers, we were right rascals a fair chunk of the time. Yet my Mama remembers the good times. Her mind selects the rosy bits and more than likely drowns out the muddy, murky ones. She does speak in great detail of traumatic accidents and injuries however. Those recollections are of course, a given.


So whilst my posts are littered with ramblings of frustration, trying moments and difficult experiences, I feel there is more of the good stuff than anything else. Now, every time I go to roll my eyes or switch off the sound when my Mama waxes lyrical about the angelic brood her and my Dad raised, I stop myself. Because these romantic memories are what she holds onto. In my own way, that is what I would like to hold onto. Mornings at the beach. Sun on our skin. Pots of fresh fruit... and chubby hands devouring them. Sandy faces. And forever learning from my mistakes... TWO plastic buckets... one for each cheeky boy. I guess life can be a beach, if we choose to make it one.