It was the first day of autumn.
At least, technically it was.
The calendar had turned to September, the kids were supposed to be going back to school, and summer was officially packing its bags. Except mine weren't back yet. I could still hear their echoes around the house as they played, ran from room to room and somehow managed to make every corner of the house sound occupied.
And I thought, *What better way to spend one of the last days of the summer holiday, even if it isn't really summer anymore, than at the beach?*
So, the beach it was.
I gathered everything I thought I might need.
The boys' toys.
My bag.
My new book.
Lip balm.
My scarf.
Sunglasses.
Wipes.
A blanket.
Basically, everything required for a mother to casually sit on a beach for a couple of hours.
We could have walked. The beach was ridiculously close. But naturally, we drove the less-than-two-minute journey instead.
When we got out of the car, the boys were already excited. They walked ahead of me down the little path towards the beach, and from where we were, you could see the sun shining over the water.
It looked warm.
That was the first lie.
We reached the sand, and for once, I decided not to be sensible about it. I didn't carefully navigate my way across it or spend the entire time trying to stop sand from getting everywhere.
I just let it happen.
Sand in my slippers.
Sand between my toes.
Sand everywhere.
I found us a spot, spread the blanket out and settled down.
"Don't go too far into the water," I told the boys. "Stay around the shoreline."
They could collect water for their little castles. Run backwards and forwards. Play.
And they did.
Back to the water.
Back to the sand.
Back to the water again.
Happy. Excited. Completely occupied with whatever very important construction project they had decided they were working on.
And that meant I could finally settle in too.
I pulled out my book, put on my sunglasses and started reading.
I'd already made a promise to myself that I wouldn't rush this particular book.
One chapter a day.
That was it.
I wanted to experience it properly. If the author described someone's perfect ponytail, I wanted to see the ponytail in my head. If she described a room, I wanted to stand in that room. If she described a moment, I wanted to sit inside it for a while.
No rushing to find out what happened next.
Just experiencing every chapter.
And as I sat there reading, listening to the waves, I suddenly remembered the poems.
All those poems I'd written about the beach.
And I wondered:
*Would today be the day?*
I looked towards the shoreline.
You were standing there.
You turned and looked back at me with an expression I understood immediately.
*Put that book down.*
I smiled.
And then I looked away.
Because obviously I couldn't keep looking at you.
How could I?
You make me do things I don't plan on doing.
You make me break every one of my rules.
You make me dance dangerously close to the edges of my boundaries and occasionally convince me to step right over them.
So I knew exactly what would happen if I looked at you for longer than a second.
I'd end up in that water.
Absolutely not.
I was already freezing.
This is England. The sun appearing in the sky does not mean the sun has any intention of warming you.
It looked sunny.
It *was* sunny.
But it wasn't really sunny.
So I returned to my book.
I could still hear the waves folding into one another and washing over the shoreline. The children were playing. I was reading.
Perfect.
Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw you walking towards me.
I kept reading.
Or pretending to.
You came closer.
I could already feel myself smiling.
"Drop the book."
"No."
"Come in the water with me for two minutes."
I shook my head.
"This is a really good book."
You looked at me as though that were completely irrelevant.
"Drop. The. Book."
"No! This is the day I truly experience the beach."
And apparently, in your mind, experiencing the beach required actually entering the sea.
You put your wet leg against my feet.
I screamed.
"It's FREEZING!"
You laughed.
I pulled my feet away.
You tried again.
I protested.
And then you stole my book.
Now, that was unacceptable.
"Give me my book!"
You started running.
So, naturally, I ran after you.
Across the sand.
Around the beach.
You were running towards the water, which meant I now had two problems.
One: you were trying to get me into the sea.
Two and significantly more importantly, you were holding my brand-new book.
All I could think was, *If that book falls into the water...*
But you were laughing.
Really laughing.
And there was something about the look on your face.
I'd never seen anyone look quite so happy to annoy me.
You were enjoying every second of it.
And somewhere between chasing you across the sand and trying desperately to rescue my book, I realised something.
I liked this version of me.
The one who wasn't sitting neatly on the blanket.
The one who wasn't thinking ten steps ahead.
The one who wasn't resisting everything simply because she knew where it might lead.
I liked the version of me that played.
Eventually, you stopped.
I caught up with you, still demanding my book, and you pulled me towards you.
Close.
Close enough that suddenly the cold wasn't the thing I was thinking about anymore.
You leaned towards my ear.
"Is it really that bad?"
I smiled.
"Maybe not as bad."
You held me a little tighter.
"Am I really that cruel?"
I looked at you.
"Maybe not as cruel."
And just as I allowed myself to settle into the moment
"MUMMY!"
I blinked.
The beach returned.
The boys were at the shoreline.
The waves were still rolling in.
My book was still in my hands.
My sunglasses were still on my face.
And I was still sitting exactly where I had been sitting the entire time.
On the blanket.
Alone.
I hadn't run anywhere.
Nobody had stolen my book.
Nobody had tried to drag me into the sea.
Nobody had whispered anything into my ear.
I'd been daydreaming.
Imagining what might happen if, for once, I stopped sitting safely at the edge of everything and actually let myself experience the beach.
I smiled to myself and went back to my book.
Eventually, the temperature dropped enough for even my stubbornness to admit that it was cold.
I packed the toys.
Folded the blanket.
Put my book back into my bag.
Gathered the boys.
We walked back to the car, climbed in and drove the ridiculously short journey home.
And that was it.
I went to the beach.
I sat on the sand.
I read my book.
I watched my children play.
And I left without ever touching the water.
But maybe that's okay.
Because perhaps some things exist in our imagination before we're brave enough to experience them in real life.
And maybe one day, I'll go back.
Maybe one day I'll put the book down.
Maybe one day I'll stop watching the water from the safety of the shoreline.
Maybe one day I'll be brave enough to experience the beach.
With Love,
Ayo
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