Not long after Cassidy and I got back together and knew it was serious, he took me to his father’s house in Truro on Cape Cod. It was (maybe still is) a long house in a wooded area on a gravel road that I always thought was impossible to find. It had four bedrooms and had been renovated, but the soul of the house was intact. You walked into that house in July and breathed in the smell of summer vacation. You walked into that house in December and breathed in the smell of summer vacation memories. Summer could be far away but you couldn’t turn a corner in the house without being reminded. Pictures and poetry hung all through the house. There was one wall in particular that captivated me every single time I visited the house. It always will.
It was filled, floor to ceiling, with photos of Cassidy and his brothers and cousins from babyhood to adulthood. It told tales of being buried in the sand, of OREO and peanut butter sandwiches, of beach days and outdoor showers, of corn on the cob and ice cream and finding sand in your shoes long after you have gone back to work or school or winter or whatever other dreaded little thing you escaped. You looked at these pictures and you saw a gift that the children have been given. They have been taught to truly know joy and pure fun. Not everyone receives these gifts. The evidence was on the wall. It was written in every expression on every face of every photo. You couldn’t look at the pictures and not smile. I looked and thought, “I want that in my life.”
I grew up with 7 grandparents and my kids are growing up with 6. And I just lost the last of mine only weeks ago, and I not-so-secretly and magically want my kids to have all six for the next thirty years or so. Whatever it takes to bend time and let the stories go on. Grandparents are laughter in the rain, echoes in the wind, and footprints in the sand. They are everything.
They are history and power. Dreams and time travel. And they are full of stories and memories, because one day we are nothing but stories, so you might as well make it a good one. My grandparents and my children’s grandparents give me that sense of both peace and urgency that everything is ok/not ok, and that it all boils down to love. My grandparents and my children’s grandparents infuse me with the parenting I aim for and sometimes even achieve. All that stuff. It matters. It sticks with you. Where you take them, what you feed them, what you tell them, and how you tuck them safely into bed.
I know I promised you some Beach Sand Play Dough and I won’t go back on a blog promise. This “recipe” or craft, if you will, is dedicated to my grandparents, my children’s grandparents, and anyone else who takes their grandchildren to the beach.
Beach Sand Homemade Play Dough
What You Need:
1 cup flour
1 cup fine sand
¼ cup salt
1 Tbsp. cream of tartar
1 Tbsp. vegetable oil
¾ cup boiling water
Shells, small glass stones
What You Do:
1 – In a large bowl, mix together the flour, sand, salt, and cream of tartar.
2 – Then, add the oil and water and mix well.
3 – Knead the dough for 1-2 minutes until it is all smooth.
4 – Mix in some shells and glass stones and have fun molding and playing with the sand play dough. It’s just like playing at the beach but this sand holds its shape!
So, have you ever made homemade play dough?
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