Guess here before you read on!
As I'm sure you all have figured out without my having to say so, ( Read more... )
Now, I was a little disappointed in the beach at Coney Island. I had this memory of going to the beach often enough with my parents, and a park nearby, but apparently that's Manhattan Beach, which is in my memories very nice and well-maintained, and it's probably no coincidence that it's hard to get there if you don't live in the area. No parking, that sort of thing.
Coney Island, by contrast, has one measly little showerhead in the shower area, with no real pressure at all, and it's not up on the boardwalk (which would make sense) but a short walk from there so you get all sandy again. And it has insufficient water fountains, and no real changing area that I saw. Even South Beach, near me, is better equipped, and our beach fails in other ways. (For example, due to the waterflow (or possibly the fact that folks on the Island are litterbugs, not sure which), all the trash in the water ends up in THAT bit of water.) And the sand is coarser than at Coney Island.
Oh well. As for the day...
Evangeline spent some time lying on the sand "getting a tan". She may have been tired, she may have been sulking that Ana had bonded with some other kid over a shared hatred of Justin Bieber, or, most likely, she may have been doing both. At any rate, she was fascinated with the fact that you can SEE the "little rocks" that make up sand when you get close, and it is yellow even though the "little rocks" are all KINDS of colors like white and clear and black and even red. "How can red be yellow? Is red yellow, Connie? I don't THINK so! But look! The sand is all yellow, even when it's red!"
Ana, this kid, and I spent a lot of time digging a really big hole, which I carefully filled in before we left. Digging a big hole is what I've always done at the beach, I don't know why.
I also spent time moving our blanket further from the water. My phone and all my remaining money were with our bags, but I had nobody to watch them. The lifeguard had already noticed Evangeline trying to go in deeper than she should without a grown-up (and I agreed with his assessment), so she especially *really* needed to have somebody with her in the water - unlike when we went to South Beach last week there were LOTS of people on Coney Island (well, duh, though I did sigh a bit when we made our transfer and I noticed how many people on the train had umbrellas, shovels, or towels with them. The girls and I had set off to the beach singing "Oh you can't get to heaven on the BMT, 'cuz the BMT won't B M T" and it was sorely true) so I didn't really want them going in even as far as I let them go in there, not without me. So I kept my stuff as close to the water as I could manage before the tide came in and soaked everything.
And I spent some time indulging the girls in their favorite pastime, telling them stories about The Past. This was on the way home, of course. I told them all about The First Time I Rode A Rollercoaster - the Cyclone, natch. I went in with my father, all the way at the very front. And I wasn't scared at all! We went up and up, and I'd never been scared of heights, though it eventually occurred to me to ask my father how we were going to get down. I don't remember his answer, but it doesn't matter - I found out soon enough! (Ana wants to go on the Cyclone next time. Evangeline is dubious.)
One last bit of nostalgia, and then I'll shut up, promise. My mother regaled *me* with what was apparently a dear quote to my father, culled from a newspaper article: Coney Island is the place where you spend the whole day, and then refuse to buy your kid a third ice cream cone at the end of it. And that ice cream is all they'll ever remember.
And we had that too, the happy mood right up until it was meltdowns and whining for everyone. (Not me. I don't get to whine. It really sucks being the responsible grown-up!) They were hungry, they were thirsty (I'm Friday, let's get together Saturday and have a Sunday! It's a wonder the nieces haven't killed me in my sleep over that line, but even more of a wonder that they still whine "I'm thirsty" instead of asking politely for something or, better yet, getting their own damn water!), it wasn't enough that I had paid $6 for three Italian ices, couldn't they each have one more?
Luckily, I had anticipated this, and had carefully packed away a bag of potato chips (this came as a complete surprise to the nieces, despite the fact that they were with me when I bought them this morning!) and two things of bubbles. They had the potato chips on the train - and really, it's not *such* an unhealthy snack so long as it's not ALL you eat - and then the bubbles on the boat so it wasn't such a let-down. This is a very good plan on any special day out. ALWAYS have something moderately special (but not as funtastic as the day out) to do after you've left wherever-it-is. I can't promise it'll always work, but it may get you home without the whole train/boat/bus criticizing you.
As I'm sure you all have figured out without my having to say so, ( Read more... )
Now, I was a little disappointed in the beach at Coney Island. I had this memory of going to the beach often enough with my parents, and a park nearby, but apparently that's Manhattan Beach, which is in my memories very nice and well-maintained, and it's probably no coincidence that it's hard to get there if you don't live in the area. No parking, that sort of thing.
Coney Island, by contrast, has one measly little showerhead in the shower area, with no real pressure at all, and it's not up on the boardwalk (which would make sense) but a short walk from there so you get all sandy again. And it has insufficient water fountains, and no real changing area that I saw. Even South Beach, near me, is better equipped, and our beach fails in other ways. (For example, due to the waterflow (or possibly the fact that folks on the Island are litterbugs, not sure which), all the trash in the water ends up in THAT bit of water.) And the sand is coarser than at Coney Island.
Oh well. As for the day...
Evangeline spent some time lying on the sand "getting a tan". She may have been tired, she may have been sulking that Ana had bonded with some other kid over a shared hatred of Justin Bieber, or, most likely, she may have been doing both. At any rate, she was fascinated with the fact that you can SEE the "little rocks" that make up sand when you get close, and it is yellow even though the "little rocks" are all KINDS of colors like white and clear and black and even red. "How can red be yellow? Is red yellow, Connie? I don't THINK so! But look! The sand is all yellow, even when it's red!"
Ana, this kid, and I spent a lot of time digging a really big hole, which I carefully filled in before we left. Digging a big hole is what I've always done at the beach, I don't know why.
I also spent time moving our blanket further from the water. My phone and all my remaining money were with our bags, but I had nobody to watch them. The lifeguard had already noticed Evangeline trying to go in deeper than she should without a grown-up (and I agreed with his assessment), so she especially *really* needed to have somebody with her in the water - unlike when we went to South Beach last week there were LOTS of people on Coney Island (well, duh, though I did sigh a bit when we made our transfer and I noticed how many people on the train had umbrellas, shovels, or towels with them. The girls and I had set off to the beach singing "Oh you can't get to heaven on the BMT, 'cuz the BMT won't B M T" and it was sorely true) so I didn't really want them going in even as far as I let them go in there, not without me. So I kept my stuff as close to the water as I could manage before the tide came in and soaked everything.
And I spent some time indulging the girls in their favorite pastime, telling them stories about The Past. This was on the way home, of course. I told them all about The First Time I Rode A Rollercoaster - the Cyclone, natch. I went in with my father, all the way at the very front. And I wasn't scared at all! We went up and up, and I'd never been scared of heights, though it eventually occurred to me to ask my father how we were going to get down. I don't remember his answer, but it doesn't matter - I found out soon enough! (Ana wants to go on the Cyclone next time. Evangeline is dubious.)
One last bit of nostalgia, and then I'll shut up, promise. My mother regaled *me* with what was apparently a dear quote to my father, culled from a newspaper article: Coney Island is the place where you spend the whole day, and then refuse to buy your kid a third ice cream cone at the end of it. And that ice cream is all they'll ever remember.
And we had that too, the happy mood right up until it was meltdowns and whining for everyone. (Not me. I don't get to whine. It really sucks being the responsible grown-up!) They were hungry, they were thirsty (I'm Friday, let's get together Saturday and have a Sunday! It's a wonder the nieces haven't killed me in my sleep over that line, but even more of a wonder that they still whine "I'm thirsty" instead of asking politely for something or, better yet, getting their own damn water!), it wasn't enough that I had paid $6 for three Italian ices, couldn't they each have one more?
Luckily, I had anticipated this, and had carefully packed away a bag of potato chips (this came as a complete surprise to the nieces, despite the fact that they were with me when I bought them this morning!) and two things of bubbles. They had the potato chips on the train - and really, it's not *such* an unhealthy snack so long as it's not ALL you eat - and then the bubbles on the boat so it wasn't such a let-down. This is a very good plan on any special day out. ALWAYS have something moderately special (but not as funtastic as the day out) to do after you've left wherever-it-is. I can't promise it'll always work, but it may get you home without the whole train/boat/bus criticizing you.