“Where are we going?” RB asks for the millionth time.

“CAPE COD!”

“I call it the Cape.”

Me too.

I’m forty one! And this is year four of spending the summer at the beach. Not to toot my own horn, but I’m getting good at it.

I can make lunches, pack snacks, drink coffee, coordinate swimsuits, apply sunscreen to small, wiggly bodies, one large cooperative body, all while texting, washing dishes, mitigating sibling fights, doling out popsicles, then walking the ten steps to the beach balancing a giant inflatable unicorn. All before 10am.

And all while maintaining my relaxed, beach persona. Or at least I’m hoping that’s what my hat and sunglasses are doing for me.

I bemoaned my last day of being forty. There was no sympathy for me. Everyone seemed to think: What’s the difference?

I agree, what’s the difference? I’m not sure, but I can’t wear my “40” tiara anymore. I can’t look over my shoulder at my thirties like it was just yesterday. I can look at the guy on the beach my friend gestured to as she said,

“He’s about your age right?”

Oh good grief. He was exactly my age. He had just turned 41 and was NOT a shining beacon of youth.

Over the winter we invested in an umbrella upgrade: the cool cabana. Good choice. A large portion of the beach appears to agree with us. Our friends got one too.

After many days of neither one of us even taking it out of the box. I couldn’t even remember what color I ordered. My friend asks,

“When are you going to try it out?”

“I’m waiting for a second adult.”

Refer to previous preparation list. By the time I get to the beach, the most effort I want to exert is opening my book.

We also ordered an inflatable paddle board. Jury is out on this. We’re hoping to try it next week when we go sailing with my in-laws.

BB has loved their boat since the minute she was born. She was doing overnight trips by the time she was two. BB and Captain have gone on several week-long sailing trips with my in-laws.

RB has done nothing to make me think she’s a good sailor.

Two years ago I looked at 1.5-year-old RB and said NO WAY to the week-long sail. Last year I looked at 2.5-year-old RB and said NO WAY, but then proceeded to feel like MAYBE we could have done it.

This year I looked at 3.5-year-old RB. HARD TO SAY. But I can’t let Captain and BB have all the fun without me!

A few weeks ago, we did a one-day sail with no overnight. Even RB’s iPad didn’t seem to stop her from pinging around the boat. My feelings swayed toward NO WAY. Everyone else seemed convinced it was worth a try.

Okay. As long as I’m not the only one to blame when we’re all ready to throw RB overboard.

Now I’m excited. I love adventures. If RB does make me regret taking her, no one will be able to tell. I’ll be wearing my hat and sunglasses, transforming my relaxed beach persona into my relaxed sailing persona.

Anchors aweigh!