Riding the Mommy Wave

Last Wednesday, I had the day off from work, but my own grade school children had class.  

My day was wide open from eight-thirty to three.

Sure, I could have graded a pile of papers, organized my son’s drawers, or stained the deck; but when I awoke to that fogless, windless, October morning, I knew what I had to do. 

Go to the beach.

At breakfast, I mentioned my plans to my husband. 

“I would never do that,” he said, as if going to the beach on a workday was the moral equivalent of having an affair.

I made sure the workmen who were installing our furnace all week were not looking when I loaded my boogie board, towel and snacks into the car.  I didn’t want them to think I was a good for nothing woman of leisure.  Plus, I didn’t want them to know I would be gone all day.

I thought again about staying home. 

I could answer any questions they might have, or create some PowerPoints for my class.  Of course, the workers could always call me or better yet, my husband.  

I walked along Stinson Beach, watching the morning light sparkle on the receding and approaching waves.

Pleasantly worn out, I spread my towel and lay down.  I didn’t miss my children’s arguments about who brought which beach toys, or whining about not being able to eat a sandy sandwich.

After a while, I decided it was time to boogie board.  The ocean was freezing.  Not wanting to dip my chest in the water, I missed catching the first big wave.  When the next one came — I was ready. 

I swam furiously, and caught the break. 

I rode twenty feet to shore and back, nearly colliding with a seventy-year old couple. 

Then I did it again.

As I ran to the sea, I was glad that my non-maternal, non-professional, non-wifely self had persevered.

By Beth Touchette