I’ve always considered myself pretty lucky in the extended family department. My family’s pretty normal. I grew up in the Midwest. There’s a fair amount of white trash in the Midwest, but not in my family. Well, you know the saying, sometimes when you’re looking for something you wind up finding it’s been right under your nose the whole time (or whatever Dorothy said at the end of The Wizard of Oz).
Turns out, I should have been looking at my own nose. I’m the white trash in my family. I think the fact that I don’t smoke or drink threw me off, but it’s now plain as day. I came to this realization on Friday when I took the girls to the beach.
I’m a poor planner. You would think after three kids I would know what I need to bring places, but I always underestimate the messes my children are capable of making. We went Friday morning. It was nice but overcast and not super hot. Therefore, I decided no swimsuits. We were just going to play in the sand and maybe get our feet wet in the surf. No need for swimsuits. (Can you see my mistake already?)
We were having lots of fun in the surf, chasing and running from the water. Samantha got a little overexcited, as she is prone to do, and ran away while still facing backwards. Ella was directly behind her. So Ella went down as the surf came up. The result: one toddler in soaking wet shorts, diaper, and tank top, and no change of clothes.
She was cold and wet and didn’t want to wear her clothes. So I did what anyone would do, I let her run around in just her diaper. I was hoping her clothes would dry by the time we had to go home.
While I was stripping her, I had to put Penny down on the towels. She, of course, began stuffing fistfuls of sand in her mouth. Then she tipped over, onto the sand. I brushed her off as best I could, but she was sticky from the sunscreen and we all know sand just does not come off that easily.
Samantha was occupying herself making sandcastles. So she was also covered in wet sand. Her arms, legs, and the backside of her shorts.
Then it was time to play in the surf some more. If you had been there, this is what you would have seen. Me, in a tank top, shorts, and my hair in a pony tail, holding a sand caked barefoot baby running in and out of the water. Holding onto my free hand was Ella, in a diaper only and her janky hair. Samantha, wearing a shirt that opens in the front and shows her belly when she runs and a pair of short jean shorts, covered in sand, screaming like a banshee trailing behind.
Of course, Ella’s clothes did not dry before it was time to leave. I tried to wrap her in a towel, but she couldn’t keep it up herself and I couldn’t carry Penny, our bag of crap, and Ella. So she walked out herself, in only a diaper. Yep, pure white trash.
I would like to apologize to my family who I apparently have been embarrassing by my white trashiness for years. I really had no idea. I’d like to say I’m trying to change, but that would be a lie. I may be trashy, but I’m no liar.