Malibu

Malibu, home to surfers, celebrities and beautiful beaches as well as fires, mudslides and paparazzi. An hour drive up the Pacific Coast Highway to the tune of, "Are we there yet?" from the back seat brought us to Charmlee Wilderness Park where a volunteer docent guided us along a rocky, sandy trail. Spencer couldn't quite keep up with the group so I ended up carrying him (30 pounds, whoo!) most of the way. We broke off from the group early and looped back to the parking lot. I stopped at El Matador Beach but quickly realized that there was no way we were making it down the steep hill, especially after just completing a strenuous hike. This stop made quite an impression on Spencer because when asked to describe his day to Daddy during dinner, our brief stop at El Matador (Spencer never even got out of the car) was the first thing he mentioned.

We headed back down the PCH and ended up at Zuma Beach, a beautiful expanse of sand and waves. I changed Spencer into his swim trunks, rolled up my shorts and off we went to put our feet in the ocean. The water was cold at first but gradually we adjusted. Spencer loved the feeling of the water swirling around his knees as waves rushed in and out. He didn't even seem to mind the seaweed that tenaciously curled around his ankles with each crashing wave. I tried to entice him into building sand castles but he just wanted to stay where he was, letting his feet sink into the sand and laughing at the sensation of the salt water.

Spencer kept trying to stand on his own but I insisted on holding his hand, worried that the current would pull him under, a worry only reinforced by watching a lifeguard rescue a 10-year-old boy who had wandered out too far. The boy's mother was waiting on the shore when the lifeguard brought him in. I felt for her as I glanced down at my own little boy. A couple of times Spencer fell down on his butt so that the water reached his chin. He sputtered, "Yuck. I don't like that." Nothing like learning the lesson for yourself.