What is the Cost of a Memory?

On Sunday after church, Preston and I decided to take a spontaneous trip to the Long Island Sound and escape our chaotic house that is slowly becoming a home. We already know that "spontaneity" and "baby" are not an easy combo. We mixed it anyway. As we began the hour long drive in the late afternoon, I began to question our decision.  Baby girl had already begun to fuss and it looked like we would hit traffic. We hadn't had dinner yet, and I don't do hungry very well. I shared my concerns with Preston, and he responded with one simple question: "What is the cost of a memory?"

At day's end, this was our price:

• Two hours squished in a messy truck
• A tired, inconsolable baby--for two hours, squished in a messy truck
• Dog poop on my white pants (apparently the dog didn't register "an hour-long drive in the truck")
• Preston caught wearing dress socks and Chacos (not pictured)
• Sonny Boy's epic, embarrassing asthma attack at the beach
• Grumbling tummies until 8:00 p.m.

And this was our purchase:

• Baby's first trip to the ocean
• Photos (you take a picture, and suddenly something is an event, right?)
• Sunset, misted over by a thin layer of clouds
• A warm, sticky breeze that said, "Welcome to your new home" as we tried to really believe it
• The ocean smell that wakes up your spirit and says, "Adventure!" (apparently this was a talkative place)
• Helpful strangers becoming fast friends, eager to meet a beautiful baby
• Sand on our toes
• Stained white pants and a vow to clean out the truck
• Our beach fix, meaning we don't have to go back for awhile

Okay. Now I'm just getting snarky. Enjoy the memories "en photo".