Eoin was a little surprised to see the beach at Penarth was so muddy (I know, we shouldn’t have let him get too used to Whitmore Bay, should we?), but he was still happy to muck in – literally – for a good, hearty game of splat.*
I’m really glad to see that he loves the seaside as much as I do, and I’m glad that, at the moment, I’m more able to just enjoy these intervals of straightforward happiness. For a long time, it has been very hard to relax into these moments and, as the counsellor is fond of reminding me, “just to be”. Often it’s easier to berate yourself for your shortcomings, whether real or imagined, and to focus on the failures, the anxiety, and the other paw prints of the black dog. I hope this means I am getting better. I think I might be. What I am sure of, though (and what I have pretty much been unable to admit to myself before), is that Eoin is a happy, healthy, well-balanced, muddy little chap, who is generally having the time of his life out in the world.
*A time-honoured seaside tradition: players gather handfuls of wet sand, and fling them violently back onto the beach, thus creating the aforementioned splat. Points are given for the radius and vigour of the splat, and the winner is the one who finishes up looking the least like they’ve been to a spa for a mudpack treatment.