Sugar Lips and the Great Sand Ski

It started, as so many of my days do, with keys.

Westley has been obsessed with keys since he was a baby.

Not toy keys, not plastic ones.

Real ones.

He can always spot a fake.

It’s like he can smell power.

The car keys.

The house keys.

Nan’s spare set.

If it opens something important, he wants it.

I’ve tried everything! Decoys, high shelves, drawers.

Nothing works. (Although I have managed to hide a few from myself… permanently.)

This morning, we were already running late when it began again: The Great Key Hunt: Part 472.

One set turned up in Westley’s toolbox.

The other?

In my own hand.

Which tells you everything you need to know about my mental state.

Once we found everything (and briefly debated installing combination locks), we were ready for the day.

Destination: our happy place,

Sugar Lips.

Nan had only ever heard stories about our beloved coffee van by the beach, so she happily joined the expedition to “see what all the fuss was about.

Little did she know, the fuss was mostly us.

Loading up was an event in itself.

Kids, Rottweilers, adults, plus one Nan, all stacked into the van.

It’s like playing Jenga, but with an extra layer of terror due to the imminent risk of farts.

Nan clutched her handbag and her faith.

Nathaniel called out “helpful” driving advice from the back, wedged between two enormous dogs.

Westley sat proudly holding his bodyboard, face lit up with pure joy and anticipation.

Even getting out of the car was a mission.

We scrambled trying to catch the dogs as they leapt from the boot, slipping harnesses over their massive necks while the kids bolted in opposite directions: one toward the beach, one toward the coffee van, one tumbling over the dogs.

By the time we hit the sand, I already deserved a day off.

Robbie hit the waterline and started building a massive sandcastle.

Nathaniel sprinted into the waves, fearless and yelling, crashing through the water on his bodyboard.

Westley took the opposite approach. He took up position on the shoreline, yelling “I DID IT!” every time he managed to outrun a wave without getting wet.

Technically correct. Perhaps not entirely true to the full nature of surfing, but still, full of heart.

Jackson patrolled the beach, barking at every small white dog just incase it was a rabbit.

Ace took one look at the waves, sighed like a tired tradesman, and retreated to a shady cave in the rocks. Within minutes, he’d dug himself a sand pit for a nice nap, leaving the nonsense to Jackson.

It was time for sugar.

Tandy woke Ace to walk with him up to the Sugar Lips van, presumably to make sure he got some kind of exercise in.

Soon enough, he returned strolling back down the sandhill towards us, a bag of hot cinnamon doughnuts under his arm, two coffees in one hand, and Ace’s lead looped over the other.

That’s when Jackson spotted them.

Fifty kilos of pure joy and friendship activated.

He bolted.

Unfortunately, I was still attached.

The lead wrapped around my wrist and, before I could react, I was being dragged up the beach.

I was barefoot skiing across the sand, yelling, “JACKSON, YOU DICKHEAD!”

(Episode coming soon: The Idea — featuring Jackson, the Dickhead, and Me.)

Tandy froze mid-step, coffees trembling, doughnuts swinging in peril, eyes wide like he was watching a slow-motion disaster he couldn’t stop.

Nan clutched her pearls.

Westley, thrilled with my sand surfing skills, yelled, “MUM, YOU DID IT!”.

Which, to be fair, I had.

Jackson reached Ace, tail wagging, triumphant. They crashed together in a wrestling match that was really an overenthusiastic cuddle in disguise.

We collapsed in a heap of sand, laughter, and cinnamon sugar.

The boys munched doughnuts.

The dogs flopped together, tongues out.

Tandy handed me a coffee with a grin that said,

worth it.

The sun shimmered.

The sea glittered.

And I just sat there and breathed it in.

This ridiculous, beautiful, perfectly imperfect life.

Sometimes you lose your keys, your mind, and occasionally your footing.

But somehow, you still end up exactly where you’re meant to be.

A van full of laughter.

A beach full of chaos.

And a family full of love. Slightly sandy, mildly unhinged, and absolutely perfect.