The Beach

You might think that yelling red-faced at the ocean is something only crazy old men do. You would be wrong.

The first time we sat Noah down at the water's edge last week, his initial reaction was glee. The waves splashed against his legs and he couldn't get enough of it.

Then, he literally couldn't get enough of it: it was low tide falling, and a few waves in a row failed to reach his anchorage in the sand.

He pointed. He grimaced. He shouted at the inexorable sea. He wailed.

He turned toward his mother with a gesture of outrage. Make the waves come back! I want those waves now!

When we actually took him out deep, we knew we had a terminal case. The kid found nirvana. He couldn't have been happier if he'd been eating blueberries with one hand, raspberries with the other, and petting a dog with both. Unless perhaps if he'd managed to wriggle out of his diaper right before that trifecta, the better to pee in mid-air as the dog licked his face.