Beach Bum

Oh my goodness.  Is it summer, or what?

Hoy!

So we've been swimming.  A lot.

Brady P. hasn't really liked to swim the past few years, but he is getting taller, and more open to it.  Last week he went into Lake Manganese up to his chest!  

Just wading around and enjoying the coolness.  He told me he was alright, so I let him have at it.  I was so proud.  That was the farthest ever on his own!

Today we went to Lake Fanny Hooe.  His dad has a house on that lake, so we get to use their beach.  It's perfect for a little guy!  Sandy, shallow and gradual.  No weeds.

We floated there from the dock on his pizza raft from Uncle Matt.

And after previously watching the bigger kids (and mom) jumping into the big lake lately, plugging their noses and cannonballing off of docks, he had his own rendition of how to jump into a lake.  

Here it is!

If he's not swimming or wading, he likes to throw rocks.  As long as he's mindful of the other kids, it's okay.  But man, sometimes we have to remind him loudly.  His aim is impeccable.

Stay cool!

Little Chucker

When deciding on Braeden's middle name, I first picked Charles.  That was my Grandpa Wilbur's middle name.  

The May before Braeden was born, I was in North Dakota, the state where Grandpa Wilbur lived and passed in 1986.  I didn't know him very well because I was so young, but he came to visit me that May of 2014 while I slept on my aunt and uncle's couch.

It was Grandpa's 100th birthday, and my mom and I went to visit his grave that day.  I felt a coolness behind me as I tried to sleep on my side with a little bun in my oven.  I knew instantly that it was him.

He told me I was having a boy.

I smiled.

So when Braeden was born, I had the inclination to brand his middle name after Grandpa Wilbur Charles.  However, my own father is still alive.  My wonderful Daddio Philip.  I figured he would be honored, too, so I switched it to Braeden Philip to carry on that legacy.  All from the convenience of my hospital bed.

Why am I telling you this?

Because "Chuck" lives on in Braeden.  He is a rock chucker to the max.  He chucks each rock enthusiastically and deliberately.  Like each one is his first and last.

Double-fisting before the double chucker

Luckily Bryce has a beach nearby where we can go, so Brady P. can satisfy his obsession... in April!  There is no place to sit on a rock beach near open water in the Harbor right now.  I have looked.

Thanks Bryce, for finding a beach, chucking with us and capturing the moments (all photos on this post courtesy of Bryce).

Watching Braeden do this is inspiring.  He is in his element, no doubt.  The moment he sits (or stands) on the beach, he  scoops up a rock and tosses is in.  Giddily.  Merrily. Seriously.  Like he means it.

It's so inspiring, that anyone around has to join in for a few.

B and me in rock-tossing bliss

Over and over and over and over again.  The other day we sat out for almost two hours, and he still disagreed when we said it was time to leave.

"Three more rocks, Braeden," is always my cue to inform him that we are about to leave.  Then we have to say good-bye to the rocks and lake, so he knows that we are really leaving.

He still disagrees.

And that is a nice way to say that sometimes he throws himself into the rocks and screams in protest.  Sometimes he comes reluctantly.  But he always disagrees.  At minimum.

I can't blame him.  Who wants to leave Lake Superior?  Who wants to leave the beach?  Who wants to stop doing their favorite thing in the world?

Certainly not Braeden.

He could sit there all day in mild to warm weather.  He doesn't even know he is hungry until we get inside.

I really wonder if he might be the first Major League baseball pitcher with Down syndrome.  Not that we watch sports, but he's got mad skills.

It is in him.  My little Chuck.

Wet Beaches, a New Soul and Presents!

I intended to write about this earlier, but I wanted to be sensitive to my readers living on the south coast before I expounded on receding shorelines and rouge waves.  I hope you and your loves ones are safe and sound.

***

When you think of Brady P., the first thing that might come to your mind is throwing rocks.  We still do that at least once a day because the weather has been lovely.  But as fall approaches, sometimes we are missing a part of the equation when we get to our spot for the day.

The beach.

The increasing waves and rising Lake Superior tide has been playing tricks on us.  I like to have Braeden throw from the "dry rocks," but there have been days without dry rocks.  That means that the waves ebb and flow so far up, we could get swept away by a rouge wave.  We have shifted our throwing spots so far back that sometimes we have to find a different spot all together.  One of our places was void for most of the summer.

As we sit in our tiny spot of dry rocks (or say "screw it" and sit in the wet ones), I have to watch every wave.  I know her Majesty's waves usually come in threes, so if one splashes up higher than the rest, two more will probably do the same.

I have had quite a few instances of scooping little Brady P. up while he was mid-toss and running him back a few feet.  Sometimes he is already wet.  I really concentrate up to that point, and squeal when they are getting close.  Oh my gosh, we have so much fun.

Brady P. catches on too.  He is a meditative soul, and I have caught him becoming one with the waves several times.  This occurs when the waves come up higher than usual, and he knows he is in potential danger of wet pants.  

He stares at each wave as it rolls in.  His body does this slight undulation in correspondence with the incoming waves.  He looks mesmerized, yet peaceful and expectant of the next splash.  I can almost guess what he is thinking because I do the same thing.

You will have to do it yourself, and see what you think.

Of course, he is not always on cue.  Like last week we were out on the shore with a friend.  I was busy reading parts of my memoir to my friend Bryce, and next thing we knew - ploop!  Little Brady P. was floundering in the brisk water on a calm, sunny day.

He came out drenched and livid, but that was his first immersion in Lake Superior, so we figured it was his baptism.

His soul is wiped clean.

My soul gets pretty clean out there too.  I can't even believe how fortunate I am.  Here I am, a full-time mom, living the life some people only dream of.  I get to spend time on the beach with my son, and, at the same time, I am working.

Working???

Yes, working.

While I'm on the shore listening to splooshes, I have my notebook ready to harbor the inspirational thoughts that cross my mind.  Many of my latest ideas and business plans have been created while my toes were getting wet.

I have also been picking rocks for work.  Now, beach-combing has never been my thing.  I never had a purpose for rocks from the shore.

Until now.

Just you wait, my friend.  I am creating bookmarks.  Bookmarks with a translucent Lake Superior stone on the top to remind you to stay solid in form while the light shines through you.  They will be almost as inspirational as my memoir itself, and one in every 20 pre-orders for that book will get a free bookmark!

I'll let you know when they're ready.

So, yes.  I've been busy.  I'm so excited for life right now that I can hardly contain myself!!!  I can't wait to release my next round of concoctions to the world.

And you will be part of it.  If you surely don't want to miss it, please click here to learn how to get these posts delivered to your inbox.

Thanks so much for wading through another post without a picture.  As a present, here is a video I took in 2007 of the waves blowing in near the Copper Harbor lighthouse.

Please turn your volume down a bit, as I was a novice recorder at the time, and the wind sounds horribly offensive through the microphone.  And on a day like that, we wouldn't be throwing rocks.

Enjoy!

Click HERE to watch the video of the waves on Youtube.

It's safe, I promise!

And a bonus present!  Here is the Superior Trails color report for the Lake Superior areas.  They even have a peak color predictor that they just updated.  Happy fall!

Colorful Kites

This past weekend Grammy Linda, Brady P. and I drove to Eagle River, Michigan to treat ourselves to a day at the beach.  Aaron and ten of his friends were out in the Lake Superior wind and waves kite boarding, so we went to watch their performance.

Upon approaching the shore, the power of the wind was apparent.  It lifted their kites high in the sky and gave them the power they needed to tack through the water like surfers who owned the lake.  It blew the delicious smell of freshly smoking meats from The Fitz past our nostrils.  And it cooled the temperature down at least 10-15 degrees from the lovely warm day we just left in Copper Harbor.

Grammy and I are really good at preparing.  We had lawn chairs, snacks, bathing suits, towels, bug dope, toys and everything we could have needed at the beach.  Everything except long pants and jackets.  Luckily I had a few baby blankets in the van.  I turned a Noah's Ark quilt into a shawl and wore it the whole time we were there.

Brady P. didn't care about a little chill or the wind.  He ran his water-shoed feet down to a crest on the shore just before the beach sloped into the lake, and began to throw rocks.  This beach had the good rocks -- golf ball to softball size -- that kids go crazy for.  He tossed them in merrily while sitting between Grammy and I.  We tried to be his wind blockers.

We watched our friends cruising through the waves with their sliver-of-the-moon kites soaring through the sky.  We weren't the only ones gawking, though.  All the tourists were pretty amazed at the sight they stumbled upon.  They took pictures and commented on the kiters' jumps and spills.

Four dudes flying kites

And Brady P.'s dad was one of them.

Soon after we sat down, Aaron sailed to the shore to shout, "Hey Jonesy!"

"It's Daddy!" Grammy and I exclaimed to P. Pie Jones -- another one of his nicknames.  He pointed with delight, then went back to throwing the perfect stones.

Each time I would ask Braeden, "Where's Daddy?" he would point toward the water.  He knew Dad was out there somewhere.  He seemed to enjoy watching the colorful kites roam the sky, but the rocks and eventual snacks were definitely a priority.

So was a nap.

Even though he traded off between snuggling under mine and Grammy's blankets, the wind, woo-hooing and shenanigans were too stimulating.  Even for a boy three hours past nap time.

He had plenty to do.  He dug in the sand with his red bucket.  He listened, totally enamored, as little Maddie Mae played her ukelele.  He ate graham crackers, chips, a brat and sand.  He roamed the beach, tossing Grammy's flip flop around.  He helped the guys by throwing more sand on their beached kites.

Brady P. helping sand the kite

That picture should give you an idea of just how big those kites are.

After a few hours we started to get sandblasted by the gusts.  Linda and I looked at each other with sand in our teeth and hair and agreed it was time to make our way back home along the lakeshore.  Brady P. waved goodbye to all his wetsuit wearing friends, and I buckled that tousled nugget into his seat.

He was asleep before we even left the parking lot.