We went to the beach for the weekend. Peter and Eleanor ran gamely across the hard flat sand toward the sea, and the sea ran at them. Once a wave flops over there is that surge of water that flows out swiftly across the sand. If you walk away from it when it is sucking back it is quite disorientating. Once the water had rushed up under Peter and Eleanor's feet they described a quick arc and began their rapid jolting run back towards land. Peter fell over into the soggy sand and howled, Eleanor kept her feet, stopped, and noting Peter's displeasure began to cry too. Back on dry sand they played in a hole. Peter tossing himself into it chest first, Eleanor more circumspectly flopping onto her bottom.
The place we stayed was very nice: a flash bach. There were stylish knick-knacks that had to be removed to safe heights, and a battery of remote controls that needed to be shifted to higher ground. The toilet facilities were slightly inadequate for those of us who like a bath. Eleanor was untroubled by using the wash basin, but I am not as limber as I once was and found it difficult to lever myself in and out while maintaining dignity. Eleanor didn't say anything but I could tell she wanted to laugh.
It rained on the last day so Nina read Eleanor a book. This developed into a photo shoot. Nina has mastered the art of looking at the camera AND organising her face; Eleanor is still inconsistent. Our child rearing and pruning guide says this is quite normal but if the child has not mastered this skill by the age of three along with a fierce walk for the catwalk there may be something wrong with the child and perhaps they can only be considered for the dismal occupations of architect, doctor or CEO.
