Mommy Orgasm

I am embarassed to admit this entry is not sexual. It is mental. Emotional.

While at Stinson a raggedy looking van pulled up in front of our house. It looked the like the home of a beach bum or a child molester. But actually, it was the moving office and nerve center of Surfer Tommy, who runs a surf camp at Stinson. He had long sun bleached hair, baggy old jeans and a laid back surfer manner. His van was filled with dozens of sandy foam surfboards.

He wasn't like an L.A. camp counselor, professional, dangling their credentials around their neck, demanding reams of paperwork. He was just a dude in a van. But he had appeared at our door. Wasn't that a sign from God that I was supposed to sign Theo up for surf camp?

I will not deny it. From the moment I drove down the coast from San Francisco to my first home in Ventura-where I landed as a cub reporter--i have had a love affair with surfing. That night, cruising down the 101 freeway I saw surfers sitting in the waves, zipping up and down like little water bugs. It was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Within weeks of being in Ventura I had borrowed a colleagues old too small diving wetsuit and bribed another reporter to take me out surfing. I never got to be great, but surfing has brought me more joy than I can convey.

When I got pregnant with Theo Jonathan and I walked up and down Zuma beach fantasizing about how one day our little one would play in the sand, run in the waves, ride a boogie board, and yes, I hoped, be a little surfer boy zipped into one of those tiny little boy wet suits.

This vacation it happened.

I sent him out for a morning with Surfer Tommy. Tommy stood in the waves and kicked the board in the right direction. His instruction was low key and mellow to the point of non-existence. At least that is how it looked from shore.

I sat in the sand in the San Francisco fog, wrapped in layers of sweaters and scarves, sipping strong coffee, and watched my boy try to get up over and over again.

And he did it.

Within four hours he was riding the waves to shore. Whitewater, sure. But he was up and he had the bug.

And Surfer Tommy wasn't as mellow as he looked. He taught my boy a lot out there in the waves.

It is strange to say, but it was a highlight of motherhood. To see your child fall in love with something you dreamed of. Especially when they fall in love with something YOU love.

I'm sorry to say I have no pictures. I have lost too many cameras to water for Jonathan to let me near sand and waves to shoot. But just know, it was beautiful.