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"August 11 You smelled like a sand castle when I put you to sleep tonight. It made me smile. We went down the shore today to visit one of my many girlfriends who refer to themselves as your aunt. You don&amp;#x27;t have any aunts, because I don&amp;#x27;t have any sisters, but you lucked out because I have the best girlfriends. Aunt Claire&amp;#x27;s parents live in Spring Lake, NJ. We visited her there last year, too. You didn&amp;#x27;t like the sand. Claire grew up in Spring Lake. I told Claire today I thought Spring Lake was a lovely place to raise a family. We are a family, Jack.It took about an hour to get there, and I thought you&amp;#x27;d nap, but instead you chomped on a bagel and we talked about the trucks and buses that passed us on the Garden State Parkway. You said &amp;quot;Vrrrooom, vrrooom&amp;quot; every time one rushed past your window. We went over all the sounds that animals make. You have now mastered how to say &amp;quot;Meow,&amp;quot; though last night on our stroll around the complex you thought the black-and-white puppy being walked by someone in hot-pink yoga pants was a cow and you screamed, &amp;quot;Mooooooo.&amp;quot; You also think zebras are cows. We&amp;#x27;ll go over this whole black-and-white thing more. I secretly love that you think black-and-white puppies are cows. Maybe they are. Maybe cows bark. When we arrived in Spring Lake, Aunt Claire was sitting on her porch. Her house is three doors from the beach and looks like a castle in a storybook. You met her family&amp;#x27;s bird &amp;quot;Rafiki&amp;quot; and were fascinated that it lived in a cage in their kitchen. You tried to let it lick your finger. It tried to bite your finger. You said &amp;quot;Mama!&amp;quot; and wrapped your arms around my neck. You smelled like shampoo. On the beach, your feet, still in flip-flops, sunk into the sand and you lifted them up and looked at them like there was gum on your foot. You raised your arms to me, and I hoisted you up and hiked through the sand until we found a nice spot near the water. People ask me how I stay in shape. I carried you, the sand toys and the beach bag. And the mini cooler that was stuffed in the beach bag. You keep me active, bud. When I was pregnant with you, I went to the beach often and I remember seeing parents with toddlers and all the stuff they carried with them. Here we are. I&amp;#x27;m so happy to be here with you. You were scared of the water at first, and this didn&amp;#x27;t surprise me. Last year, you and a friend you made on the beach really hated the ocean. The white foam rushed all around you, then pulled back out, then in again. This year, you ran away from the water then chased it, not letting it touch your toes, and you ran away again and chased it again. You plopped down at one point and examined the little shallow pool of water and the fizzy bubbles that popped in it. You splashed your open palm in and tasted the salt water. You made a peculiar face but tasted it again, this time looking seriously at your finger as you pulled it from your mouth. You stood at the very last inch of dry sand and said &amp;quot;again,&amp;quot; extending a little watering can to me. I filled it up every time, and every time, you dumped it on your feet and said &amp;quot;coo-wool.&amp;quot; Airplanes with banners attached to them advertising cheap happy hours soared by, and each time you screamed, &amp;quot;Mama, Pain!&amp;quot; I told you it was a &amp;quot;plane.&amp;quot; You watched it fly by then turned to me and said &amp;quot;Where go?&amp;quot; I told you California, because we went to California once in a plane. You were equally fascinated by the boats and pointed out to sea with the most urgent of fingers declaring &amp;quot;Boooooot!&amp;quot; I will take you on a boat one day soon, I promise. We took you to the saltwater pool on the boardwalk. You watched tween boys do backflips off the diving board and screamed &amp;quot;Whoa-wa!&amp;quot; I dunked you in the cold water, and you screamed and cried, but it was really hot and for your own good--just trust me. Back on the beach, you ate a banana and said &amp;quot;Mmmm&amp;quot; then spit some out when you realized there was sand on it. It&amp;#x27;s OK--everyone gets sand in their food on the beach. It&amp;#x27;s part of summer, bud. You got used to it and dumped a handful of sand in the bag of crackers I brought along, then said &amp;quot;Ut-Oh,&amp;quot; then shoved about 10 in your mouth and said &amp;quot;Mmmm.&amp;quot; Your cheeks ballooned and you giggled, spitting little pieces of orange out. Your toes were burrowing in the sand, and you had white streaks of sunscreen in your hair. You were the picture of thriving, happy youth. We took a walk by the water. You stepped carefully on the huge clusters of chipped shells. It looked like you were tiptoeing on a million baby lavender-and-black pearls. They cracked like eggshells under your feet; you didn&amp;#x27;t mind this feeling, and it surprised me. You half-enjoyed the outdoor shower in Aunt Claire&amp;#x27;s yard when you realized I was able to get the sand out of every single inch of your body. Your hair definitely still had bits of sand in it. Mine too. Waves curled in the distance. The water was calm rushing in and pulling out. It was constant and lovely and remains even when we left and always will--the dependable pull of the tide. It&amp;#x27;s like my love for you, Jack. It&amp;#x27;s always there, returning itself, in and out, over and over. When I&amp;#x27;m near, or far, it&amp;#x27;s there. The sky turned orange then purple on the drive home, and your eyes got heavy. Your cheeks were blushed with sunshine. You smelled like a sand castle when I put you to sleep tonight. It made me smile. Check out Making Memories: Catching Lightning Bugs here. *** Get Glamour Wherever You Go! Follow us on Twitter. Friend us on Facebook. Add us to your Google homepage."^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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