Beach Baby

We took Elijah to the north Evanston beach yesterday. So he could see how rich people frolic. When Diana pitched me the idea, I made a big stink. Not because I dislike rich people, but because it costs $7 per person to go see sand and washed up syringes. And as we know from our Mexican vacation, Eli hates being in the sun for more than 3 minutes. Which by my calculations is roughly $12,4029 per minute.

So Diana put it to me to find a new Labor Day activity. After I suggested walking around the mall and walking around the sidewalk outside the mall we decided to go to the beach.

And in typical Elijah fashion, he loved it. Just to prove me wrong. He’d toddle out into the surf until it got scary or knocked him down. Then he’d chatter, “Up up up!” After hoisting him back to safety he’d say, “Up up up!” Which means “down.” And so on and so forth. The rich people didn’t seem to mind. They were too busy buying and selling the likes of me.

After the 50th “Up up up,” I noticed that something went terribly wrong in his swimming diaper. I took a look and got a nice chemistry lesson on what happens when poo mixes with sand. Not surprisingly, it becomes disgusting.

Diana and I went back to our blanket for the old changeroo. When we dug through our beach bag, we found sunscreen, water, handcuffs, a live monkey, juggling balls, a spare tire, two shotguns and a seven-course meal. The only thing we failed to pack was poo wipes.

So I engaged in my own form of class warfare. I washed Elijah’s poopy butt off in the richie rich north Evanston section of Lake Michigan. I’m sure this flies in the face of my fist shaking environmentalism. Remind me to send Obama $50 as penance.

After a couple second of poo washing, Eli began to shout, “Up up up!” I think it was out of embarrassment.

p.s. I know the last couple of posts have been extra scatological. But it’s not like we have spelling bee minutiae to dive into yet.