Anyway, we get the bathing suits, the sunscreen, towels, flip-flops and the necessary trunk o’ junk needed for beach day bliss, grab the girls and hit the road. The colleague and his family were super sweet to host us. His kids glommed onto Morgan and vice versa, Coever was passed around like a dutchie on the left hand side, which left DH and I free to wave jump and frolick like merpeople.

Mo wasn’t feeling the waves at first. In her defense, the waves were high and rough; something about Hurricane Rita and her swells off of the coast. Still, the water was rife with surfers, kayakers, boogey-boarders and the like. The host and his family took turns getting thrashed about in the water, sometimes winding up yards away from where we were stationed in the sand. Several times the hostess was standing on her tip toes looking far and wide for some indication that her family was still on this particular beach instead of washed up somewhere far away with nothing but one another and Wilson for company.

DH took Mo out into the water, but she didn’t want to get in at all. She was clinging to him like a cheap suit and pretty much crawled up his body when she saw the waves headed in her direction. Contented to play in the sand, Mo had no trouble letting DH and I take the host’s kids out into the water again and again. I have to admit, it was a little daunting though; I mean, I’m having a hard enough time getting back up after being knocked down by a wave, but keeping an eye on someone else’s kids that combined probably weigh 60 pounds and are attacking the waves like the ocean owe’s them money? Jeez! We kept telling them “Stay between us, stay where we can see you!” I’d like to think they had water in their ears, but I know how kids are; I used to be one. Those little jokers were like, “Hey, my folks are up on the beach, I got these two ninnies trying to give me the what for? Shoot — here comes a waves. Jump, bitches, jump!”

Finally, Mo realized what she has been missing out on and decided she wanted to get in the water, too. DH took her in and they got pummeled from all sides; she loved it. Again and again ’til poor DH, with his heat rash sensitive skin, dragged them out and plopped on the sand. By that time, I was ready to go again, so I grabbed Mo and headed on down. Big waves, smaller waves, sneaky-I’m-startin-big-but-crashing-small waves and vice versa tossed us around and down, this way and that. After a particularly aggressive wave, I figured it was time to come on out or be lost at sea forever. I told Mo, “One more and then we’re coming out,” to which she agreed.

Me and my big mouth.

Clearly, I angered Neptune or Posideon or one of their boys because the wave that came next could have carried our buns all the way back to our house. I couldn’t out walk it, the waters were too rough. All I could do was take a deep breath, get a good grip on Mo and pray. Both of us saying “Here it comes!”, me with lots of trepidation, her with lots of enthusiasm, the water deluges us, and I know it’s not going to end well. With an instinct that would make all mothers proud, I thrust Mo up in the air as I as I can as I am pushed under water, scrabbling for purchase with my feet, keeping my eyes shut tight to keep my contacts stuck to my eyeballs. And all I can think is, “DH has got to be seeing this, he’s got to see us, he’s going to pull me out in a second,”

It felt like forever, but I’m sure it was all of 5 seconds. Mo was hoisted like a mainsail over my head until I finally steadied myself and shook the water off of my face and out of my eyes. I look at the beach and DH, the host and the family are still sitting there, chillin’.

What the hell? Did NO ONE see me take one for the team just then? I about died!! Slinging Mo around my hip, we make it up to the shore where I ask, “Hey, did y’all just see that?” — hello?!

Our dear host and his wife rushed to DH’s defense, saying once host-wife said, “Hilary went under,” he was up, out of his chair and steps away from the water. Because of my extreme desire to not die or lose my child (funny how that works), I came up with miraculous speed and by the time I had stiffed armed the ocean, he was back in his seat.

So, basically, I prevented my knight in sandy bathing suit from making his rescue. Still, it’s good to know he was charging the sand for me (well, me and Mo. you know, first born child and all).

Brushing some sand from my legs, I said, “Oh yeah, I had it under control.”