Tragic Sandwich

Food. Family. Fun.

Archive for the tag “beach”

Sand Pail List, Revisited

Sand and Toys

In May, I created my “Sand Pail List” of things I wanted to accomplish this summer. How’d we do? Let’s take a look:

Going to the park
We did go to local playgrounds, but not nearly as often as I’d intended–except for when we were in Santa Barbara. We went to a lot of playgrounds in Santa Barbara.

Summer concerts
Not one. Turns out that the ones held in my friend’s town are on Sunday nights, which didn’t work for us, and we never investigated the ones closer to home. Maybe next year.

Going to the beach
We got to the beach three times this summer, and are going again once Baguette gets her cast off. Labor Day may be over, but southern California’s summer is not.

Swimming lessons
Happening right now! Well, not right now. But we’ve enrolled Baguette in the current session at our local Y, because you cannot keep her out of the water. (Me, either.)

Err . . . I’ve done a little, but certainly not as much as I meant to. And I still haven’t gotten back to that farmers’ market.

Well, there’s always fall. What should I call that one–maybe Leaf Bag List? I wonder if that works in the land of no fall colors.

Photo by ~W~, via Flickr.


Santa Barbara Sojourn

Santa Barbara – what’s not to love?

Every girl needs a jaunty hat. Even if it’s her mother’s.

Exhibits were made to be climbed.


A girl after my own heart–when I was trying online dating, my full add title was “Mary Jane Watson Seeks Peter Parker; No Green Goblins Need Apply.”

Time for a run (so, also a girl after her Daddy’s own heart).


Photo by Mr. Sandwich

Giraffes enjoy being hand-fed romaine lettuce, and Baguette enjoys hand-feeding romaine lettuce to giraffes. Win-win!

Who needs a straw cup?

Never go in against a Sicilian donkey when grooming is on the line!

Baguette’s first time on the carousel. Mommy’s first time not riding a horse.

Finally! The beach!

We are not sure when the beach became so important to her life. This is her third trip ever.

A Day at the Beach




Ready for Action

Big Ocean, Little Girl

Sand castle destruction

Mommy and Baguette

Sand Pail List


The latest issue of Better Homes and Gardens (and with that, I am officially my mother–or, since she read Woman’s Day and Family Circle, perhaps one of her close cousins) encourages people to make a “Sand Pail List” of things you want to accomplish before the end of summer. It’s like a Bucket List, but only for summer. And presumably without bringing death into the equation. So here’s what I’m thinking about:

Going to the park
Baguette loves to run free, and we’re lucky enough to live near several public parks. I want to make the most of them.

Summer concerts
One of my friends lets us know about outdoor concerts in a park close to her. It sounds like a great family event, and I’d love for Baguette to meet her boys. Plus I’m not sure I’ve seen this friend since shortly after Baguette was born.

Going to the beach
We live close enough–why don’t we go more often? I want to go at least three times this summer.

Swimming lessons
Baguette loves the pool, and she finally loves the tub–she’s even teaching herself to put her face in the water. I want to make sure we start her on swim lessons this summer.


This is a perennial goal of mine. Baguette and I love summer produce, and there’s a farmers’ market near our house every Sunday. I want to get back into the habit of buying food there and making healthy family dinners.

How about you?

Photo by k.l.macke, via Flickr.

Another New Theme

Much as I love the beach, and beach vacations (which surprises even me), I wasn’t loving that theme. Maybe this one will stick.

So why am I surprised that I love the beach and beach vacations? After all, what Pere Sandwich says about the beach is true: it can make you sandy, salty, and sore. Beyond that, I am pale. Seriously, I have had English people tell me I’m pale. And if you think I’m pale, you should see Baguette.

Well, in spite of the grit of salt and sand, and my propensity to sunburn, I’ve discovered that the beach actually is relaxing. And for those of you who think that you don’t have “beach-worthy” bodies. I say this: the beach is not looking at you. And if someone is looking at you and you’re the worst thing they’ve ever seen, well, then, that person lacks real issues in his or her life. Because most of us look normal, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

So kick back, lay out, splash around, and have a good time. After all, that’s what really makes you look great.


When Mr. Sandwich and I were planning our honeymoon, I was assigned to a stressful project at work. I told him, "I've never really wanted the traditional beach vacation, but I really want a beach vacation. And I don't want to cross the street to get to the beach, or take the elevator down 10 floors to get to the beach. I want to walk out the door of my room onto the beach."

We didn't manage to swing that for the honeymoon (although we found a great place by the beach, and liked it so much that we've gone back twice since), but we did stumble into that dream vacation. Some friends rent a place on the beach for a week every summer, and a couple of years ago, they invited us to join them. Imagine my delight when we found that the rental not only had a balcony that overlooked the beach, but that there wasn't even a concrete path between the door and the sand.

So what's your dream vacation?

My Dream Vacation

Before J and I were married, I was working on a project that was extremely stressful. I told him that I wanted a beach vacation–“But not just any beach vacation. I don’t want to have to cross the street to get to the beach, or take the elevator down from the 15th floor and walk through the lobby to get to the beach. I want to walk out the door and be on the beach.”

Fast-forward four and a half years. I’ve just wrapped up a month of stressful projects, and what got me through was the knowledge that there was a beach vacation at the end of it. And, although I didn’t realize it until the day before we left, it turned out to be the beach vacation of my dreams.

Our friends D and A invited us to join them; for the past 10 or 12 years, D’s parents have rented the same beach house in Newport Beach. It’s a split-level with two floors. The bedrooms are a half flight up and face the street. The kitchen and living room are another half flight up and open onto an enormous balcony overlooking the beach. On the ground floor, exit the front door (actually on the side), turn right, and walk 10 feet. Presto. You’re on the beach. No elevators, no streets. Just the beach.

It doesn't get better than this

We spent two days with their family, reading on the balcony, oohing and aahing as D’s father flew an elaborate kite, lounging under beach umbrellas, watching surfers, swimming, and splashing in the shallows. In the evenings we ate delicious food and watched the Olympics. It was relaxing and healing and everything I needed.

Let's go fly a kite!

Let's go fly a kite!

Surfin' USA

Surfin' USA

The truth is that it was better than the vacation I imagined, because we got to share it with dear friends. I miss it–and them–already.

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