There's this guy in my life who seems to be an expert on this thing called breathing. I think it has something to do with having spent so much of his life upside down in a boat under water. Or a plethora of other life details that have resulted in a pretty mellow guy.
I also just happen to have three little people around me all day, every day who - by nature of their beings - are also experts on said idea of 'breathing'.
And then there's my beloved ocean. Breath itself.
So when a crazy day - full of far more commitments than we're used to, and far too many expectations of what can be done in a day with three little ones - takes a wrong turn, and things start to fall apart? Despite my own inclination sometimes to: A - forge ahead against the grain and against all sense; or B - head home to fester the day away, I really need look no further than directly in front of me to find the answer when I've forgotten it. Stop. Breathe.
And with that - twitchy and bug-eyed, all commitments and plans are abandoned, and we drive straight to the beach. Without proper beach 'gear' or plan, we sit and play for hours until we find ourselves breathing again. Another lesson.
