Amanda Lamb: My happy place

It’s funny how a place can be marked by memories of your growing children. For me, going to the beach involves constant reminders of their childhood.

I was in a restaurant bathroom the other night and remembered having tired, fussy, sandy little girls, trying to wrestle them out of wet bathing suits and wrangle them into dry clothes so that I could get them to eat a grilled cheese before they passed out from sun exhaustion.

I remember how planning for a beach day with children involved an incredible list of items and stellar organization. From sunblock to towels to snacks to toys and dry clothes, the list was endless. They whirled around me while I did this, full of restless energy wondering when we were going to go to the beach.

I see them in the surf, floating with the current in their tiny life jackets and then jumping off the boat full of giggles and adventure, prepared to do it again and again.

I remember the first time one of them got up on a wakeboard or a surfboard behind the boat — how we cheered and then anxiously waiting for them to fall and be rescued by one of us.

I remember sleepy, towheaded girls gathered around the table for pancakes on a weekend morning, hair askew and eyes droopy, faces sunburned and excited about the day ahead.

And now, as the teenagers sleep, and we wait for them to get up to begin the day — I realize that my happy place is happy not just because it’s beautiful and serene, but because of the mosaic of beautiful memories that mark every spot.

I know new memories will grow here as they get older, and someday, I hope they will involve more family ... husbands and grandchildren. But I will never forget the little sandy girls who own my heart and make every place “happy.”