Cleaning day.

He asks if I want to go to the beach. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been.

We grab cheese and crackers and chips and yellow kiwis.

Talyor Swift all the way there.

It’s still overcast, but the sand is warm. We set up a few chairs and lay out the blankets. I quickly find myself on my back, face toward the soft glow of the sun pushing through the fog. There is laughter and baby squeals but mostly just the roar of the ocean.

I wake up and eat a handful of cherries before falling asleep again.

Someone has started a very lively game of beach volleyball right behind us. It’s not that I don’t want anyone to have fun, but must we be so shrill? I eat some gummy worms and lay back down.

I manage to sleep most of the afternoon, feeling the cool ocean breezes on my cheeks and listening to the rhythmic sounds of the waves. I could do this every day. I want to do this every day.

“They should know by now that if they don’t do the trips, they don’t get the treats.”

Ceviche tostadas and chenin blanc.