I LOVE beach days. I always have, my entire life. All I’ve ever needed to make me happy was some sun, salt, and sand. I remember it being the most simple pleasures, those days at the beach. As this summer comes to a close, I’m reflecting on my summer days versus those of my children.

We bring alot of crap to the beach. 13 beach chairs, 23 different bags of snacks, 9 inflatables, 15 noodles, 43 towels (that I’m going to be the one to wash), and 652 juice boxes. First of all, the chairs mostly do not get used, but the one day I just bring my own, every kid will scream and fight over sitting in mine and whine incessantly about why I didn’t bring their chairs too. I bring plain potato chips, bbq chips, dill pickle chips, popcorn, cheetos, and tortilla chips. Know what happens? Someone asks why I didn’t bring the pretzels. Every.single.time. I bring water, fruit punch, pink lemonade, and grape juice. Someone wants the apple juice! I remember jumping on my bike and wrapping my towel around my shoulders when I was a kid! That’s all I needed! When I was hungry, I rode my ass home and got myself a fluffernutter and went back down. I wonder if my own children would implode if I tried this with them?

I have implemented the “you want it, you carry it rule”. That has led to none of them wanting anything. So, I pack as much as I can fit on the old stroller (my own ghetto version of a beach buggy) and I roll it down to the beach. I do all the work except for carry their whining little bodies. I grab the football, soccer ball, volleyball, floating ball. When we get to the beach they whine that they have nothing to do!

Ah, yes… there’s another thing! These poor, deprived children that spend nearly every summer day on the beach have nothing to do! Perhaps some kid land locked in Nebraska would want to trade places with these kids?!? Complaining about going to the beach, as far as I’m concerned, is as stupid as complaining that you have too much money or that the portion size at a restaurant is too huge! Come the eff on now! Seriously! Next time I’m over at the cabana bar having a drink, I’m going to complain that the mudslide is just too good. Oh, and the sand is too soft on my feet. The shirtless men are too good looking. My friends are too nice. Yada yada yada…

I’ll start tomorrow, on Labor Day, putting out a large jar on the table for my ungrateful kids and their ungrateful friends. Whenever they complain or whine, they need to put money in the jar.

Next summer, I’ll use it to buy peanut butter, fluff, and bread and spend the rest on my mudslides.