the beach in french

My mom did a blog about our beach day, and she did the title in french. So that explains my title.

I first knew I was there when Luke complained about the smell. I saw the ocean, going for miles and miles (and miles and miles...). The salty sent tickled my nose, and it was all great.

Until I got in.

As soon as my foot touched the water, I vowed NEVER AGAIN to complain about the water in Grandma Betty's pool. All I could think about was getting out and then sitting on a towel. Inside. By the fireplace. On the sun.

And if that wasn't "good" enough, getting splashed with salty water was.
My advice: Do Not Drink

Then came the next beach.

It was better, collecting shells, covering Luke in sand, and getting salt water in my mouth.
Did I mention how many times I fell on my butt when trying to skim board?

Well, ok, it wasn't exactly a beach paradise, but for me, it would have to do for now. :)