Shallow Thinker

Butterfly (now three and a half) has an affinity for the tiny seashells that my wife keeps in our guest room. These shells were once an orderly decoration stored in a pretty crystal dish but have since become a scattered set of play things that occupy her while we busily cook supper or tend to Ladybug. I’m constantly finding these tiny things in random places across the house…and sometimes in my shoes.

While we were at the beach, I thought that Butterfly and I could spend a little time devoted to replenishing our supply. The first two days we were there, it was too cold to spend time in the water so I took Butterfly for an evening stroll along the sand after supper. As we walked (ran, jogged, skipped, and galloped) along the shore, I picked up those shells that looked just perfect…Butterfly picked up anything that caught her eye. My pockets were soon full of shells, driftwood, seaweed, and a few other unknown sea objects.

Our last day at the beach, the weather was beautiful, and we were able to take both girls down for some time in the sand. After Ladybug had eaten her share, Kelley and her parents took her back to the house for the task of removing sand from places where it should not be. Butterfly and I lingered behind for a few extra minutes to ensure that she was fully appeased and that my sunburn was evenly distributed across my back.

As the time drew near, Butterfly and I slowly began making our way back towards the boardwalk. She stopped to fill the holes that the crabs had made (”Daddy, they need the sand in their holes to help them sleep”) and in response to her slowness, I glanced around and picked up a few more of those perfect shells that would later adorn the interior of my running shoes. After a few minutes, I finally grew tired of wasting time and I looked back at my daughter who was zig-zagging across the sand.

“Come on, Butterfly. Why are you taking so long?”

Butterfly responded to me with her reasoning and it made perfect sense to her. At first, I smiled because it’s just one of those “logical” things that she understands and that I fail to grasp. But since she spoke these words, I have felt the weight of fatherhood a little heavier than before:

“Daddy, I’m just following your footprints.”