Our last summer at the shore was with a 3 month old infant in tow, who was neither mobile nor particularly excited at the prospect of sun, sand and fun.  She spent much of the day sleeping inside of her fancy ocactagonal “pack and play of doom.”  This year was markedly different, owing largely to Justine’s newfound ability to walk, semi-talk and flash the ‘gnarly’ hand gesture with her tiny fingers. (Tubular, no?). We were excited to reintroduce her to the beach in the hopes that she would be instantly smitten, throw herself into a career of beach volleyball and finance our retirement with lucrative Baden sponsorships.

Alas our first day at the beach was reasonably disastrous, with Justine entirely averse to the rolling, medical waste infused waves and dirty sand, both hallmarks of the Jersey shore. Our ambitious hopes were dashed with the epic frowns that dripped from her face, her vehement aversion to her sandy predicament, and the nasty looks from the poor folks at the receiving end of her tantrum-induced sand throwing.

But we vowed to try again, like the poor fella who thought ‘I can turn this around’ as he was feverishly bailing water out of the Titanic. The next few days we avoided the beach, trying to gently nudge the bad memories of the first day out of her brain and replace them with the other treasures of Ocean City – the Boardwalk, amusement rides and shuffleboard.  Finally, later in the week, we made it back down to the shore, and placed our daughter gingerly on the sand, ready to snatch her up and race home in the event of thermonuclear toddler meltdown.

But much to our surprise she loved it. While still not a big fan of the ocean, she took heartily to the sand, romping around, flinging it, and as any good kid does, tasting fistfuls of it. (Much to my chagrin, she did not poop out pearls. At least not the kind I could sell)  We were fantastically relieved, and settled in to finally enjoy some fun at the beach, even if it did end up with my wife and I covered in those annoying bits of quartz.

The official sand activity of the extended family this vacation was ‘hole digging,’ (the ‘to China’ kind) and Justine loved to stand in them, especially the ones that filled with water. It was as she emerged from one of these my wife snapped this picture of our daughter, face full of sand and smiles, immensely enjoying (finally) a day at the beach.

We started off the evening with the rides, under the supposition that motionful rides plus an  infant’s full belly would lead to less than desirable result.  A “test-run” we ran with Justine earlier in the week made it clear that riding “acapella” was not in her repertoire, and so Kim and I both took a spin on the flying elephants with her, with some success (and some unbridled screaming).  Her older cousins did a much better job riding in the fire trucks, spaceship, boats and on the upside down Ferris Wheel.   After we all had our fill, we finished on the classic carousel – Kim trying to coax a smile out of Justine as she perched on her faux horse, while I tried in vain to maintain my balance and get some decent pictures as the wheel spun violently, jettisoning many a small, untethered children into the hard concrete below.

After the rides, we headed to a pizza place just a few storefronts down from the rides, and ordered a few pies for everyone.  Remarkably we made it through the meal with a minimum of meltdowns but a sizable fallout zone of fallen pizza thanks to the toddlers and their high chairs.  After paying the bill and making our standard apologies for the noise, mess, and lousy tip, we headed back onto the boardwalk in search of dessert.

The sea-air infused planks in Ocean City offer a stunning myriad of sugary delights, from the ubiquitous funnel cake and cotton candy to the more exotic deep fried Oreos and veal gelato.  And of course, the ice cream.  There was little debate as we all partook of either some good ol’ fashioned hard ice cream or the delectable soft serve from Kohr Bros.  We consumed our tasty victuals as we waited for a local shore band (The Tidal Wave Band) to get set up.  By the time they started their show, our dear little toddler’s were well entrenched in the mind-bending grip of sugar.

Her older cousins quickly broke into spontaneous dance, busting moves I’d only ever seen on Soul Train and/or Lawrence Welk.  And then there stood Justine, marveling at retired beach bums spinning Beach Boy riffs and pounding steel drums in front of her, in awe of the site and jittery as the sucrose coursed through her veins.  I captured her on film at this exact moment of bliss.

“No. Way.”