Sunshine and 27 degrees on Saturday meant a beach day for me and Eli - where else would we spend that kind of a day with no work and no obligations? Not frying in our scorching-hot living room at home, that's for dang sure. We packed up a picnic lunch (PB sandwich for Eli, veggie wrap for me, and bananas and cookies for us both), tucked some towels and sunscreen into a bag, and hit the road. I shuffled through my iPod the whole way there and Eli yelled "Next!" or "Stay!" for every new song. Forty minutes and a whole lot of skipped songs later, we were parked in the sand.

I have loved going to the beach since I was a little kid - digging in the sand, jumping in the waves, floating on an inflatable alligator raft, collecting seashells and treasures to bring home - and it's my favourite place, to this day. I will never say no to a beach day, winter, summer, spring, or fall. I do my best thinking and decompressing watching the water and breathing in that salty air. It's like meditation for me. I show up at the beach feeling stressed out, and by the time I go home, problem solved, issues in perspective, worries quelled. I don't get mad about vacuuming sand out of my car on Sunday nights, because to me, it's a sign of time well spent.

A day at the beach is not what it used to be. There's no more lollygagging with magazines, grabbing a quick catnap in the sun, and diving in when I get too warm. These days it's watching a wild two-year-old running around, helping him build a castle, making sure he's not slipping on wet rocks, and chasing after him when those speedy little legs decide it's time to make a break for it. But it's still my favourite place to be, and I still feel better after spending time there. Best of all is seeing how much fun Eli's having. He's definitely his mama's boy when it comes to a day at the beach. We're lucky to live just a hop, skip, and a jump away from the ocean, and I don't think I could ever live far from the sea.