I used to come here as a 16 year-old and loiter outside Fantasy Island. I thought I was big. Looking back, if you used one of those sticks--Must Be This Tall-I wouldn't have been 'tall enough' for Grown Up. I wasn't THAT big. Until I met Patrick. He was older and preppy. A dark haired Irish boy. He went to Lehigh. He looked like a Kennedy.
When he was done with me, I was officially 'grown up'. Whip out that stick. Allow me on the ride. The one that involves big girls and beautiful boys and first loves and heartbreaks and REM songs and the smell of sun tan lotion. Long make-out sessions that made you feel turned on. I didn't know what that feeling was. I was more accustomed to those super awkward 'I think I bit his lip' kind of kisses. Patrick was magic.
I remember sitting in the dark on a lifeguard stand with him. We didn't know each other. Our pheremones wanted to. We were stuck with each other. Our friends were off somewhere on a distant point on the beach, making out. I cooked too much in the sun that day. I was starting to bubble up. He kept touching my face. Made me dizzy. I remember stars, lots of them. Playfulness. I was funny that night-I was ON. I remember the stand crashing and tipping us onto the sand. I remember him on top of me (not in a scary way). I remember that kiss. Everything after that was a blur. My relationship with him was a blurry dizzy exciting love coaster. It was exhilarating. And like any awesome ride, it was over too quickly.
Twenty years later and I find myself on the same sand, only now I'm with my family. And the exhilaration comes from the calm. Washing the dishes while looking through a window overlooking a clothesline with our fun gear drying in the sun. Bikinis. Spongebob hats. One lone sock. A breeze. My family lining up for dinner on the deck. The Lawrence Welk Show on in the living room because it reminds me of my grandfather sitting next to me in his chair when I was a child. I can almost smell him over the smell of my pasta. The thought or the feeling overcomes me-how happy to have a family. How lovely to to be off that ride. I don't want any rollercoasters. I want calm.
MS is a bit of a coaster ride for me. I can have the best day ever. Be warned, best day means energetic and washing things and cleaning things and wrestling with my kids. And the NEXT day, seemingly out of nowhere, I will have a hard day. Can't walk. Too tired to lift my head. Weird things in never known places hurt. It is so up and down and seemingly out of my control. Ick.
Last year when we came down here, it was so much harder. We were on the first block and before I even got to the beach (a whole block, say with sarcasm), I would yak and my legs would stop working. The heat is very dangerous for people with MS. I remember the frustration of WANTING to be ON so I wouldn't blow this for my family. When MS lets me down, it lets them down. This year is different. I was up at 7 am yesterday and got in at 11 PM. The day seemed effortless. It was beautiful. God is so good.
I didn't like rollercoasters at 16. I don't like them at 36. Whether they are lovecoasters or MScoasters. I don't like watching my kids on rollercoasters because that ONE article I read a year about the poor baby that fell off the ferris wheel haunts me. I don't like a lot of things. But...
I love being able to take my children on vacations. I love creating traditions and memories of experiences with this nuclear family I created. I love adding to their nostalgia memory bank. That smell reminds me of vacations with my family as a child. It is better than any THING I could ever give them. Will AJ remember playing in the outside shower as I hung clothes on the line out back? Will he smell pasta wafting through the air and hear Lawrence Welk every time he's near the ocean? Will they see me every time they see a sea shell and smile? Will the sound of their dad's laughter as he hops over a crashing wave echo in their ears throughout their lives, no matter where they go?
But more importantly, how old before my dear Zoe goes on a lovecoaster? Can I take that ride for her so she doesn't have to scar the way we do after our first broken heart? And our second? And our third? Can I take that hit for her? I can't. But hopefully these carefree days will overcome them.
