Beach therapy

OH, wehavebeensosick. Tate's illness was not mushroom-related at all, it was just the good old fashioned stomach flu. And after he got it, I got it. And then Chad got it. And right when Chad and I were bent over the toilet, begging for mercy...Tate got better! And wanted to PLAY!!

Since I was still feeling weak and my stomach muscles felt like they had been taken to with a meat cleaver, I decided it was time to go to the beach. My logic? Well, a 3 hour round-trip drive gave me much needed time to recuperate without toddler-chasing, instead singing songs and pointing at horses and motorcycles and logging trucks. And once we got there, it was pure joy to see Tate. He has been to the beach before, but he could never *explore* it like he can now.

First, he planted his feet firmly in the sand and he just looked around like "WHAT IN THE....."

Then, he found a paper bag. WOO!

Then, he found a crab.

Then, he saw a dog. Then kids. Running now. KITES. (Huge hit.) A pail with a shovel in it. Then...oh my gosh....the water.

Actually, the huge body of water he saw wasn't even the ocean. It was a tidal pool that I let him run up to. To him, it was a vast and magical place where his toes could disappear in the cold sand as the water rushed between them. He literally squealed.

Oh, and if you are wondering why Tate is wearing a huge sweatshirt, and where all of the bikini-clad women are, remember: this is an Oregon beach. Look at what this poor kid had to wear for his day o' fun in the sun.