People Never Cease to Amaze {Disappoint?} Me.

So there I am. Pushing a jogging stroller up over a sand dune in 90* weather. Inside that jogging stroller fusses an adorably handsome 25lb. baby. Beneath the stroller, in the ever-so-inconvenient storage netting, sits two rolled up beach towels, two bottles of water and haphazardly stuffed plastic beach toys. Slung over my shoulder is an oversized kid tent. 
Before I continue, let me interject that no, I do not recommend anyone try this at home. Unless you would like to spontaneously combust secondary to severe heat stroke. 
Back to the story at hand. Did I mention that it's a Monday? Do you know what that means for the beaches of Ocean City, Maryland? No lifeguards on duty.

So there I am. Sweating bullets, muttering strings of inappropriate four-letter words under my breath. Stopping every two feet to readjust a wheel, push the stroller, pull the stroller and say a kind word or two  to the fussing 25lb. baby inside. Who, by the way, is getting an absolute kick out of watching his Mother sweat like John Candy or Chris Farley after an LSD binge on a Saturday Night Live skit.

Finally, I've arrived at a prime beach spot. The sand is soft, but not too soft. There aren't any rocks, sticks, shells or hypodermic needles within reach (Oh, wait. That's just the Jersey Shore) and we're close enough to the water to catch that amazing salty sea breeze that comes and goes with each break of the tide. 

I set up camp, juggling my child as he tries to eat handfuls of sand, while also attempting to rig up the kid-tent that is most certainly a "daddy-job." After 15 minutes of more sweating and more inappropriate muttering, I have successfully and singlehandedly set up shop. 

Did you catch that? I said singlehandedly. As in, no one helped. As in, no one offered to help. As in, that group there? Of 8 older women and 3 older men? Sipping on wine and Bud Lights? Didn't offer to help. Yes, that group. The one that was sitting no less than 20 feet away.

But they did stare. And one woman went so far as to yell out to me, "you should really have that baby in a hat." Which, by the way, was inside the tent. The tent that I singlehandedly huffed and puffed my way through setting up. 

I would have liked to say that if offered the help, I would have politely declined. But in this case? I would have gladly offered up a beach towel or two or even the kid tent just so that I could lighten the load. 

And they stared two hours later, watching me as I huffed and puffed my way through packing up. Dismantling the tent, folding the towels, cleaning up the beach toys. All while my child attempted to ingest half the beach. 

And they stared some more as I painfully tried to push and pull and tug the stroller back over the sand dunes. 

People never cease to amaze me. Or rather, they never cease to disappoint me. 

I can't tell you how frustrated I was about the whole situation. So much so, that I even contemplated walking back onto the beach and giving them a piece of my mind. But that would involve lugging that godforsaken stroller back up over the dunes. 

And it just wasn't worth the extra sweat. Or losing my shit. 

Happy Tuesday, Loyals! For those of you who haven't figured it out yet, we're still at the beach. Although The Husband had to leave yesterday morning to return to The Rat Race of Daily Life, Sheepie, C and I stayed behind to soak up a bit more sun. The Coronas were just too cold to pass up. 

And to make up for a post full of bitching, here's a picture or two to tide you over until tomorrow's Wee One Wednesday!