the beach

A holiday at the beach.

Parenting somewhere different from home, at the beach.

Creating memories, at the beach.

For myself, my husband, and our kids, the beach will forever be a slightly magical place.

It does, however, bring to mind different particulars for each person.

For myself, the lack of creature comforts more exclusive to home - black out blinds to help keep the kids asleep when they need to be, wifi and easy access to charging points for phones (used predominantly as cameras at the beach), and no concerns for little frogs in the toilet cubicle or prickles in the carpet brought in on someone's shoes.

For my husband, histories of every summer spent here his entire life. Thirty two years (give or take a few) of fishing with brothers, sand castles, going for long walks with sandy feet, clear moonlit skies full of stars no one's seen in a while, and let's not forget the number one drawcard to the beach house: those post-beach visit afternoon nibblies. Little piles of smoked oysters, chunky tasty cheese, gherkins, kabana, layered towers teetering on a single Jatz biscuit. A must have for any McNichol family member.

For my daughter, it's changing out the wet sandy swimmers of her morning castle building in order to while away the warmest hours of the day before trekking back down after lunch has digested, to another patch on the beach where you can spend just ten minutes fishing with dad. Then it's on to peeking into rock pools and watching out for tiny hermit crabs who are terrified of your massive four year old feet, and squealing with overwhelming excitement at the whiting fresh caught by her more experienced fishing father some time later. The beach house patio shelters more than just "Grandy's chair" and the trestle tables for Christmas lunch, it is also home to an abundance of chalk drawn families and a multitude of chairs for playing her favourite game of 'Bus' with cousins visiting from all over Queensland. These memories will dull, fade, and yet sparkle with that extraordinary beach house magic forevermore.

For my son, it's a reminder that baby gates are mandatory at this age. That piles of dust from years of abandonment are a delighted near-toddling boy's chew toy. That every wall of the beach house is a visual delight for his eyes to feast upon in contrasting wallpaper and retro details, textural fascinations with the vintage carpeting and the death wish of narrow stairs calling his name. It's playing with insect nets around your cot until mum pulls you tiredly into her bed for night time cuddles that are now a beach house special. Watching the sun set and the sun rise in that bed and the magic of each day being somewhere that is not home, sand eating and mango face smushing baby life in a nutshell.

Beach house memories, we will be back to make more.