Monday, November 19, 2012

Rebekah and the Jelly Fish

On the shores of Borneo, my daughters dig their fingers into the sand and come up smiling.

 Little plastic shovels and pails, collecting colorful seashells, kicking our toes in the waves and letting them soak.
 Kids need these kinds of days.  To remember the good and forget about the bad.

 Swimming and sun.  Water slides and inner tubes.  Hanging with older sisters in faraway places.

Making sand castles and flying kites during sunset.

Kids also need to take their lumps.  They need to fall off their bicycles and scratch up their knees sliding into home.  They need to have the wind knocked out of them after falling out of trees and they need to slip in the sea and come up coughing salt water in their lungs.  Lumps give them appreciation, caution, fear, and the need to try it again.

While on the beach that day Rebekah was stung by a jelly fish.  We were swimming in the early afternoon in the little lagoon with the soft lapping waves and the gentle breeze.  Suddenly she came up screaming and pointing to her side.  She ran to me and was scratching her ribs and hoping up and down.  I knew at once what had happened and what to do.
A year ago, while in Thailand, Rebekah was bit by a squirrel in the park while trying to feed it some bread.  Her finger was cut and she had a little shock, but she learned never to feed a squirrel again.

Of course, a jelly fish isn't something you can easily see.  It is out there, lurking, ready to strike.  As I carried her to the life guard who got the ammonia spray ready, I was already promising ice cream and a funny Sponge Bob band-aid.  That calmed her down.  Until the next time.  

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