Burn, Baby, Burn

Seized by inexplicable energy, I took Rose down to the swim beach at a state reservoir yesterday. We took a picnic, sunscreen, chairs and umbrellas, big hats, tons of drinks, and, of course, Harry Potter.

I was vigilant about her beautiful white skin, and she only got a little crescent of red at the top of each thigh. I neglected my own BACK, however. The difference between the sun-screened skin and the vulnerable is dramatic (and painful).

Next time, I won't bother with the chairs, the lunch, or the book. The lunch attracted geese and bugs (including wasps and flying ants). We'll eat in the car before we go down to the water. The chairs were used, true, but only while we were eating the ill-advised lunch. And the book? Why try to "leave" the adventure you're actually IN?

Also, next time I WILL insist on her wearing a t-shirt over her suit (she happily kept her broad-brimmed hat on all afternoon), I will bring a bucket and shovel, AND I will bring a container of water to leave in the open-sky shower area, warming while we play. The showers work fine, but the water was too chilly to get Rose thoroughly rinsed off.

Rose becomes very subdued in the face of unimaginable fun. I posted a while back about the time I took her to a magical little tea room, where she retreated to the floor in a corner and looked at books. Yesterday, her emotional retreat could easily have been mistaken for illness. She was so very quiet and still. I am glad I have begun to recognize this. I let her take plenty of time to change into her swimsuit, to gather her things (toys completely inappropriate to the outing, but they are security objects,) and get used to the sensation of sand. Once we headed for the water, she was good to go.

She also, get this, came with me when it was time to go, with only one attempt at argument. Of course, this compliance is at least partly attributable to exhaustion, but whatever. I'll take it as progress. (Again, whose? Mine, or hers?)