Mud-slinging--Not Just a Political Campaign Tactic

Yesterday I was feeling beachy, but I didn't feel like paying for CDM, struggling with Newport, or driving anywhere else. I had grand intentions of using Spring Break to go on all kinds of new adventures, but the call of resting and relaxing at home was just too tempting. So the three days that I've been home alone with my mini muffin have been a nice mix of everything. The weather's been too good to stay inside all day, though, so I wanted to get out and play. But again, for little or no money or effort. Because that's how I roll. I also wanted to go to a beach where Ben could freely play in the water without getting whisked away by the tide. So we ventured to the Back Bay/Newport Dunes beach. It costs $5 an hour to park, but we have an in, so for us it's free. It's also only 10 minutes away, so that was appealing. And the beach is on the harbor side of Newport, not the open water, so there's no tide. The downside to that, of course, is that it's harbor water. My friend and I once paddled out to our friend's sailboat in the harbor on a purple kiddie blow-up raft. I know all about harbor water. I'm pretty sure if you accidentally swallow some you'll grow an extra arm. Just thinking about it gives me the heebie jeebies. But beggars can't be choosers, so to the Back Bay we went.



(note: I'm exaggerating on the quality of beach. The beach itself is quite nice, and for the purpose of it being close by, not having the wind and waves of the open ocean, and being kid-friendly, it is great. but oh that harbor water....well, it makes me throw up a little in my mouth, I won't lie.)

I didn't bring my book because I envisioned building sand castles, frolicking in the still, bacteria-laden water, playing on the playground, and generally auditioning for Seventh Heaven with a wide array of perfect parenting moments. I regretted it the moment we settled ourselves in the sand. At Newport I can people-watch. But this stretch of ghetto sand was devoid of people. Well, except for the drunk-on-hormones high-schoolers that were careening around the bay on a paddle board and screaming swear words amid shrieks of adolescent ecstasy. Ben wasn't interested in my companionship; he preferred to go it alone with the shovels and buckets. He's all business when it comes to sand play. Bonus, though: when I asked him if he wanted to go to the beach he said, "beach! yay!" then repeated it all the way there in the car. When we got there and he got down to business he found some shells, which I named for him, and he spent a solid 20 minutes saying "dirt" and "shell" while he buried himself in sand that appeared to be imported from San Bernardino. He refused to play on the playground or go in the water.


Eventually he pulled himself out of his mound and wandered over to a group of people that had since settled in by the play equipment. I couldn't tell if he was making a move for their toys or their food. I walked him to the playground area, which he stared at for a moment then turned his back on. After eying the family nearby for a minute, he finally looked up at me and said and signed "eat." So we settled back into our area for lunch, which he devoured.

That little calorie boost seemed to be what he needed, though, because as soon as that uncrustable and those snap peas disappeared he started signing and shouting "water" and made a beeline for the murky pool before us. I hastened after him to make sure he didn't dive head-first into the "wa-wa." He got his toes wet, giggled, then started running back to our blanket. Eventually he camped out in the water. He brought a bucket, shovel, and watering can (one at a time) to the shore and filled and dumped to his little boy heart's content. I began to believe that this wasn't the worst idea ever. Thankfully Ben's a BOY boy, so we didn't have to walk away too clean. He figured out how to dig up a hefty scoop of harbor muck, "count" to three ("uh, two, tee!"), then fling the muck in the air. Then he'd clap and yell "yay!" This went on for a while, until he flung the muck more upwards than outwards and it slopped all over his head. He hesitated, smeared some of it off, then happily went back to the business of mud-slinging. It wasn't long before he was covered in God only knows what kinds of bacteria. At one point he even smeared some on my knee. Obviously I was missing out on the fun. But the important part is that he was having the time of his life. At one point he got a little too excited and flopped over face-first into the water. Oops. Still praying he didn't swallow any.



We left soon thereafter as it was just about nap time. But not before I grabbed him and his bucket and gave him a thorough washing with the harbor water. You can never be too clean. I need to be able to see where this extra arm is going to grow.