The temperature was perfect. Just a hint of summer heat hanging in the air. Turquoise highlights glistened on the surface of the Arabian Gulf and sail boats dotted the horizon.
A kite danced in the sea breeze. There were sculpted bodies in beautiful bikinis. Children playing happily. Mums reading – the sand cushioning their toes with marshmallow softness.
Waves rolled towards the shore, lapping the white sand. Kids squealed as the watery haven moved perpetually closer. The smell of sea salt and sunscreen filled the air.
Expat life at its finest.
Except this Easter weekend, BB wasn’t in the mood for the beach. All he wanted to do was play with his new Lego helicopter, a present from my parents, who’ve just arrived (and are providing the most wonderful distraction at silly o clock, when the kids – on school holidays – leap out of bed).
You can take a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink, I’ve realised – especially when the ‘horse’, ie, my oldest son, has suddenly and inexplicably developed a fear of crabs.
As the rest of us enjoyed some sun, sea and sand and LB busied himself jumping waves – dissolving into laughter every time there was an incoming rush of water – his brother looked on forlornly.
“Mumm-EEE! Can we go home?” he pleaded. “I really W.A.N.T to go home.”
For a few moments at this point, I’m sure I saw a knowing smile flicker across my mum’s face – a kind of ‘been there, experienced that many years ago’ expression that was quickly hidden.
And then, “Mumm-eeee, I don’t like the beach. I just want to go home and sit on the sofa.”
Oh my goodness. I’m raising a couch potato. And there are 15 more days of Easter holidays to go!
HAPPY EASTER EVERYONE!