Last weekend we headed off to Anglesea for a winter beach weekend. Being southern Victoria and winter equals packing bags with bathers, towels and snow jackets.
I knew the girls would want to play on the sand so I threw in their ski clothes thinking it would be perfect to play on the wet sand in.
We had a race to the water, running down the huge stretch of sand to the shore. (In case you want to know, I won)
I was donned in my longest puffy.
Hair styled by the ocean breeze.
The sand play lasted about four minutes and then Popps had her toes in the water. I expected squeals of how cold it was and running back to the car.
I had no towels or spare clothes with us as I was not expecting them to be such looneys and go in the water.
Immy attempted to keep warm but ended up getting her entire ski outfit soaked when she fell in the water.
Mr H and I started discussing who would have to be the one to run in should a huge wave knock Popps over when she was that far out (the answer is him because I had my long black leather boots on and there is no way he wants me to be buying another pair.)
It's only water and as long as they were stupidly happy I figure that it is these moments which make being a kid fantastic.
On Sunday afternoon we were heading home and decided to stop in at one last beachside town for lunch.
With the blue skies still teasing us I decided it would be lovely to eat our lunch at the beach and suggested that if they both promised they would NOT go in the water we could eat on the sand.
Immy promised instantly.
Popps requested toes only. Just tips of toes.
I said no.
No toes. Not even shoes off when on the sand.
We had no clothes left to change in to and no dry towels. I needed a promise of sand play only.
Silence came from the back seat and then a softly spoken.
"I just don't think I can promise such a thing."
And because Daddy is a push over when it comes to these two...