“Hey, Mama, can you meet us at the harbor so we can go in?”
It’s a fun call to get at 8:00 p.m., both thinking of my kid’s fun summer evening and getting to ride that wave just a little myself. (I loved growing up surrounded by farms– and my son’s townie lifestyle is fascinating to me).
They were going to bike to Holiday to buy Takis, so I loitered in the parking lot, and chatted with another mom and kid out on a summer night’s adventure.
We got ice cream bars (Crunch for me, fake-lemon SpongeBob and an ice cream sandwich for them), and then headed to the harbor.
Tim was playing his guitar, and Luke the dog was hanging out in the bushes. The kids waded in, but only so far: it was, as I knew it would be but they hadn’t expected, cold.
It was dark already, because we’re tilting away from those infinitely long days now. I would miss the long nights of June, but this was so perfect I wouldn’t trade it: the private, personal, quieter feeling of the shoreline; the comfort of not wanting to stay out until the wee hours.
So we finished our ice cream and headed back to my place where they unpaused their movie (and suffered from too many Fuego Takis), and I drank tea in bed and talked with a friend.
Ennis told me earlier that they had made some prank calls but would “NEVER so that again!!,” utterly freaked out after a deputy called them and told them they could get in real trouble.
I love that Ennis told me. It sort of makes me love that he did it, because that gave him a significant and vulnerable thing to tell me.
I feel like it’s maybe all a lot of that: doing without thinking, trying something without already knowing all the ways you could get in trouble or it could go wrong.
It could have been the wrong choice to go eat ice cream by the Lake at 8:30 at night. But it wasn’t.
The only way to know is to do. (But, yeah, as I have been repeating to Ennis, I want you to use your brain and think before you do).