We’re in San Diego for a while to visit my parents and siblings who live here. Before I met Tim, I lived in San Diego for years, so visiting always feels like coming home. One of our favorite San Diego traditions is the Fourth of July Parade in Coronado. My sister “A” wakes up at 4:30 AM to secure us a spot curbside, competing with the large crowd of similar-minded locals who also are jockeying to claim parade-viewing real estate by throwing down blankets and setting up chairs. When the rest of our family saunters up hours later and sits ourselves down in the primo location my sister has claimed, I think of her waking before dawn to ensure that we—and our kids especially—experience July Fourth front row and center. Thank you again, selfless sister of mine.
Yesterday we spent the afternoon at the beach, where Mateo endured his first brush with a jellyfish. I spent my childhood swimming in the Atlantic, where we dodged jellies all the time, but I’ve never sighted one in West coast waters. We administered vinegar (a trick we learned in Australia), and Mateo recovered quickly. The close encounter didn’t dampen our spirits, though: While I alternated between actively boogie boarding and passively being hypnotized by the sound of the crashing surf, the kids darted up and down the beach moving wet sand in buckets, and running from breaking waves. There are few places on earth as endlessly engaging as an oceanfront.
My parents are at the age where more health challenges are beginning to reveal themselves, and I’m glad we can be here together, while we can. More than ever, each day feels like a gift.
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