The word holiday means nothing to an eleven month old. When my little guy woke far too early this morning, the house still quiet and my eyes struggling to stay open, I threw on some clothes and we hit the broadwater. It sure kept my eyes open.
I quite enjoy the novelty of pushing just one kid. Who doesn't speak. Adele did all the talking and the gentle woosh of the ocean took care of the rest. At first it was quiet, only passing a few seasoned early morning exercisers. As they passed, they smiled and said good morning and then returned their focus to the pavement. I find an odd pleasure in watching all the different styles of power walkers/joggers/runners, and my favourite, trying-their-hardest-beetroot-faced-about-to-keel-over-any-second-runners. I don't understand why they are running? They could walk faster than they are running.
We took a break at water's edge for some breakfast and to watch the oldies plunge into the big blue for their routine start to the day. I can't help but smile when I see this. They all looked so content. By the time we turned for home, Dad called to say the other two had risen and they would meet us on the sand.
When we met, they were teaching Pa how to make a sand sculpture. The lure of a chino got them back onto firmer ground. And that coffee could not have tasted. any. better.