Our daughter and her five-year-old son came to visit this month from London. Their family always makes the trip during the holidays when English winters press in, so this summery adventure was a whole new experience for young Oliver. "Is this the same San Diego I have been to before?" "Are you sure, Mommy?" "Am I dreaming, Mommy, or am I awake? I can't even believe I'm here!"
Welcome to paradise, dear Ollie-O with your precious English accent. This is where morning clouds burn off before Sesame Street is over, daytime temps are in the mid-70s, ocean water is 69, sunsets are bright and beautiful, and balmy evenings wrap up the day. And this is where Gramsie is waiting to treat you right.
I thought it was the best visit ever, and I'm grateful they endured the eleven hour flight to get here. Our time together brought back treasured memories of my summers growing up too. I'm sure I have photos from back in the day that are replicas of the ones I just took of Oliver. Summer delightfulness, full of the things I never meant to forget --
1. Take off your shoes
On their way here Ashley told Oliver he wouldn't have to wear shoes in San Diego because it would be nice and warm. So when they disembarked at customs, he took off his shoes and never put them back on. "You said, Mommy!"
That was fine with all of us. We never wore shoes in the summer when we were little and neither did our kids. Our family has always preferred to burn our feet on scorching hot pavement until callouses develop a few weeks into the season. "Run for the pickle weed! There's some shade! Pick me up! Ow ow ow! Jump on this beach towel!" It's a summer ritual and Oliver understood its importance even before he got out of the airport.
I haven't gone shoeless much in recent years. I pay for pedicures to get rid of callouses, not build them up. I don't want to step on anything sharp or get stung by a bee. But after three weeks of living with a gleefully barefooted boy whose self-imposed foot torture didn't push him to put on his flip flops, I felt called to set my shoes aside, at least now and then.
2. Go in the ocean
It's an easy walk down the hill from our house to the beach. But until young Mr. Summer arrived on the scene I don't think I'd been in the ocean for two years. My usual list of reasons: the water temperature is below 68 degrees. There's kelp. It's sting ray season. Jellyfish season. Tide is too high. Great White shark sighting. The path is slippery. Grownup fun-quenchers.
Oliver's first encounter with the Pacific Ocean was entirely different. On day one of their visit we piled into the car and headed to OB, Tower 2. Ashley and I found a place to spread our towels, open my beach chair, and put sunscreen on each other's backs. While we settled in, Oliver, in his new Hawaiian print trunks and bright yellow and black rash guard, stood facing the ocean, transfixed. After a long look he laughed out loud and ran down the beach right into the water. For the rest of the day Ashley and I took turns braving the waves with him. He laughed and screamed and got knocked down countless times by waves that broke over his head. He proved himself a true beach kid, just like his mom. He had salt water up his nose, sand in his trunks, and seaweed wrapped around his legs. And he had a huge smile on his face.
My family spent every Sunday of every summer at the beach where my dad grew up bodysurfing. Oliver brought those treasured memories back for me. Sitting on the beach with him I could almost taste the plums my mom tucked in our picnics and the orange sodas we drank at the end of the day. I remembered the feel of the ridges on the inflatable rafts that bounced us into shore on the biggest waves of the day. There were memories of my Dad teaching me to body surf and how to spot riptides; and images of the elegant drip castles that were washed over by the incoming tide. That reckless beach joy drew me back and I realized it's all still there for the taking.
3. Embrace your age
Oliver told almost everyone he met that he's five and three quarters. He's proud that he's turning six. He knows that older is better, bigger, stronger, smarter, and closer to being allowed to watch Jurassic Park. I hadn't thought of aging in quite the same way but now I've reconsidered.
Oliver: "Are you really old?"
Gramsie: "I'm not that old."
Oliver: "Well you look really old."
Gramsie (laughing): "I need to look old enough to be your grandmother."
Oliver (taking a closer look): "Oh."
I'm pretty sure that was a compliment, at least that's the way I took it. I feel honored to think that I fit nicely into Oliver's "older" category. That's exactly where I want to be - in a healthy, vibrant, fun, grandmotherly kind of way. I told him I get to watch Jurassic Park and Jaws too and he was pretty impressed.
4. Relish your mornings
My friend and I still walk every morning at 7:00 and on the way home we stop by Peet's for a coffee. On occasion we get concerned that we've turned into idle women seeking purpose, but mostly we chat with neighbors, watch babies grow into toddlers, and entertain the baristas.
Oliver knew that every time I got home from my walk I'd have a kid's cocoa in hand. He was always sitting right in the middle of the couch in his pajamas with his teddies and blankies next to him in a big pile, hair in an adorably matted mess. He was barely able to look up at me because he was busy phonetically spelling the secret word of the day on Super Why!, but he'd take his cocoa, say thank you and open the lid to make sure there was chocolate dust on top.
I know Oliver's mornings aren't like that at home in London. No television shows and cocoa to start the day, but that's what made his mornings here so . . . delicious. No guilt, no worries, just the confidence that he was where he should be in the moment.
I'm delighted that Oliver knows how to relish his mornings when he has a chance, and he does it to perfection. It's a luxury to have a predictable time to pause and enjoy the day before it officially starts. I knew I liked that kid.
5. Climb a tree
There are three big juniper trees in our front yard, perfect for climbing. Whenever Oliver felt bored or stressed or tired, or just on a whim, he told Mommy he was going outside to climb a tree. Scrambling up to the top, and hidden by the needlelike leaves, he'd ask me, "Did Mommy climb this high when she was little?". There was something that felt so right about sitting on that upper motorcycle branch, revving his motor and pretending to zoom off on a race. He knew he needed a little space to recharge - or just have fun - and he found it in a safe place nearby, above the rest of the world, with a view.
I'm going to start doing that more often - probably not by climbing a tree. But I have places I like to sit and dream and think and pray: at the lighthouse up the street, on the cliffs overlooking the ocean, on my back deck. I can't believe I'm being reminded to pause and reflect by a busy five-year-old, but Mr. Summer is a pretty special guy.
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