Refreshing

South Beach, taken on my iPhone.

I walked the beach alone the other night. Just me and the salty ocean breeze that caressed my cheeks ever so gently, earning a sigh of Oh this right here, THIS is good.

I almost missed the sunset, because when a busy mama makes it across the country to another state, away from her babies, and has a moment away from diaper changes and laundry, the only logical, heavenly thing to do is to settle into a big comfy chair, feet soaking in hot suds while a new friend tells me about her own babies and massages the care out of my hands and feet. So a mani/pedi it was. And Heaven too.

And after a stern warning about the effects of sand on the perfect paint job from said new friend and a good drying of the last coat of polish, a walk on the beach was tugging at my heartstrings, the stern warning taken into consideration.  My walk started out carefully, slowly. Making sure to not dip my toes into the sand, but instead to glide easily over the top, my body flipping and flopping on top of itself. Graceful it wasn’t. So I ditched the creepy walk and frolicked across the sands, letting the wind and the waves be my guide.

I missed my babies and imagined hands flailing and waiving in excitement at the sight of the water. I pictured my girl’s bottom plastered with a thick coat of sand castle remnants that had been built up and sat on a few too many times. And I smiled.

Not because I missed them, but because even though they weren’t close enough for me to touch, for my hands to feel, I was connected to them. Though the night, the sunset, the city lights twinkling before an iridescent curtain that was quickly fading to a backdrop of navy… though it was all mine, I knew I’d be taking that deep down soul refreshing home to them. And that’s good too.

And the nails? They stayed perfectly painted.

Today brings my return to those little souls, and that is it’s own deep down soul refreshing.