Vacation vignette, the first

The concentration of a two-year old, when faced with a pile of sand and multiple implements for scooping, is intense. He rakes, he shovels. He fills one bucket, pours the contents to the other, and back again, and onto the ground. Wiggling his feet, his toes emerge. I feel the hot sand on my own feet as he scoops, scoops, scoops it higher. I wriggle my toes, and he laughs to see pink nails peeking through the piles. When his sister returns, briefly, to wipe her face, and runs off again toward the water's edge, he tugs my hand. What is she running to, he seems to wonder, and should I try it as well? We walk to the ocean, next to Daddy's chair. He tiptoes in, hesistant at first. The first wave laps at his feet, and retreats. He watches as the wet sand swallows his feet. He pulls them free, and walks further toward the water. Each wave dances at his feet, some knocking him a bit off balance, backwards into me. He pulls my arm, wanting to venture further. A bigger wave comes, and I warn him, "Here comes a big one!" I lift him as the water swells around his legs, and he grins. In and out, the water splashes, and he is loving it. I tell him again, "It's a big one!" and he turns his face, squinting, awaiting the spray. "Uh, oh!" he exclaims. It's a bigger wave then I thought, and the splash drenches his face. Instead of the tears his brother and sister exhibit at a face full of saltwater, he just laughs. Again and again, he watches the water come and go. Needing a rest, I scoop him up, protesting, to return to the blanket. I wrap a towel around him and set him under the shade of the umbrella. And in what seems like just seconds, he is sound asleep.