A hole is to dig

Once upon a time, E and I took the train to Montauk, pre-P.  Surely we left late in the morning, we had no children and Saturday mornings made up for five o'clock a.m. Fridays.  Yet, we managed to see two different beaches, climb the lighthouse, eat dinner and, well, just dally in general... Long story short, I'm consistently shocked at how much longer everything takes with a kid :)

After E surprised us with our day's destination and we finished running around like headless chickens gathering suits, we rushed to the train station.  Along with the rest of the city.  Ahhh, of course.  It was the weekend of the Fourth!  (Insert head slap.)  We made it through the line and onto the train just as the doors chimed for the last train (ummm, we now have the kid but still sleep late on Saturdays.;)  Phew.

After 3 (initially short and then veering towards long) hours, we reached the eastern tip of Long Island.  We hopped aboard our scooters and scooted into town (if only train stations were still the centers of a city.  Even if you adore public transportation (like we do) its unusually difficult to live outside of, well, NYC or San Francisco, and get by.  At least, without a lot of sideways glances ;)

The beach is so clean compared to Coney Island, its like a totally different concept.  The water has no slimy sludge.  The sand only holds seashells and rocks.  The waves are huge.  E eventually grew jealous, watching P and I play in the surf while he sat in his jeans on the sand, so he got up, called P's name and then.... dove into the ocean.  Oh, the child's happy squeals.  Just today (over a week later) he told someone the story of Papa's fabulousness...

Then we dug a hole.  It was so deep only E's arm would reach.  So, really, E dug a hole.  Clear down below the water line.  Then the Little Man took a running leap into it, only to realize the landing wasn't quite as soft as he'd anticipated :)  He spent a long time in his hole.  And then a long time filling his hole.  We couldn't help but think of that crazy book, "A hole is to dig."  Too true, apparently.

P, flying en route to the less than soft landing....

And then we were out of time.  We never made it to the rock beach or the lighthouse.  The kid didn't care, the day was perfect.  Not too hot, not too cold, not too long, not too short.  We scooted back to the station to catch the only return train and read Harry Potter all the way home.  If only I'd had that crazy hole book to read too ;)