On my birthday, I planned to take Che, an even earlier riser than her old man, to the Ocean for a swim as the sun rises.
Alas, the weather does not cooperate.
So this morning, after Breakfast Club coffee because they're up prepping to open and kind enough to let me in, my 20 month old daughter and I make our way to the Beach.
I want to let my wife, who is sweeter and kinder to me than anything I've ever known, sleep late without the squeals of a child or constant "pitter-patter" of tiny feet.
We arrive to God finger painting the sky glorious reds, pinks, purples, blues, blacks and whites ... soon whitewashed away by a fiery red sun bubbling out of the Sea.
Che grabs a gardening shovel from the stroller and writes her own note of thanks to God in some foreign language I do not understand.
Sipping coffee, warm waves break on my feet as I watch the Sun turn yellow, then bright white, casting millions of diamonds on the Ocean.
Che holds up both hands and I lift our baby wading into shoulder deep water.
Tapping the top of my head, she wants me to take off Sarah Elliott's baseball cap I'm wearing and sun glasses to hold her up while I go under.
Submerging, her laughter sinks to my ears. I hold her under the armpit with one hand and my cap and glasses in the other.
Coming up I spit salt water in her face and she laughs before cupping her lips on my chest and blowing air, which makes me laugh.
The Sun continues casting off the blankets of clouds it slept in, as we build a sand castle together.
She mimics my every move, occasionally interrupting construction to stare me directly in the eyes and intensely speak in tongues I do not understand.
Finished, she laughs, hysterically knocking the castle down, just before a wave washes it over.
Latching onto my finger she pulls me down to the sand ... just as her mother once did ... to sit in the surf.
Side by side, we watch people pass, walking or jogging, before she crawls in lap, tells me more things I don't comprehend, then covers my chest in wet sand.
Returning to the Ocean, we watch as an enormous school of Manheden splash atop the surface chased by other fish or plucked by Pelicans circling overhead.
It's a majestic and glorious thing to witness ... standing mere feet away from Dolphins slicing the Sea eating breakfast.
Lapsing into God's time, it could have been a minute or it may have been a thousand years, we are one with the world.
Pointing to the Beach signifying Che's ready for her Mommy so we make our way towards the crosswalk where she puts on her favorite shoes ... clogs that light when she walks, gifted by Marci Reiber ... she walks the entire seven short blocks to our house, taking her sweet time to appreciate and enjoy everything we pass.
Rocks in driveways, Palm fronds, discarded cigarette packs, American Flags planted to prevent parking in someone's yard capture her attention.
She plays hide-and-seek with me behind parked cars, street signs and bushes.
Jim Simmons rolls pass us on his bicycle but circles around to stop for a visit.
Che hides behind the Palm frond she's determined to carry home.
Forty-five minutes after beginning the journey, we arrive home.
"Did you enjoy that?" I ask, carrying her sandy wet body up the stairs.
"Yea, tea," she nods and smiles, pacifier in mouth.
Upstairs I change her, change me, turn on the coffee for Sarah, pour the Orange Juice and wait for the love of my life to meander up and join us.
