This is where Brad and I lived for the first two years of our marriage. There was once a house there, and now it is just a plot of grass with a couple benches. I was a bit sad to see that in person. I would have loved to have a piece of wood from that house or something. It feels a bit...empty.
The girls worked on mastering the art of skipping rocks...
"Stuffing rocks" is a thing Brad has done forever, and taught me years ago. It involves a long, oblong rock, thrown up high into the air so that it stays vertical while spinning. If you do it just right, the rock enters the water with a perfect thwup and makes no splash. It's as addictive as skipping rocks.
At one time, I was fairly accomplished at this. I could wow Brad every now and then with my stuffing abilities.
But apparently I'm past my prime.
On this day, I threw my arm back, rock positioned perfectly in my hand, and in a swift motion (that left my shoulder sore the next day) swung the rock up, up, up, and behind me over my opposite shoulder. I heard an "uhhh..." groan, and turned around to see Brad holding his cheek and staring at me. Yeah, that rock traveled in the opposite direction of the water and in all the area of that vast, empty beach, managed to hit my husband square in the cheek. He didn't even have time to see it coming.
I have officially retired as a rock stuffer, for fear my children may be my next accidental target. Or, worse, someone else's child.
And when I got home and looked through the pictures, I can see my form has suffered over the years. Clearly, looking at this picture and seeing Brad's swollen cheek, I have no business even holding a rock, much less throwing one...
I am happy to report that Brad's face was only minimally sore. All's well that ends well, as long as one learns her lesson in the end. And I have.