Day 9: Beginning to End

June 29, 2026

It didn't take long for the butterfly house to reveal exactly who my children are.

Lola wanted butterflies to land on her.

Wesley wanted absolutely no part of that arrangement.

The moment we walked inside, Lola was off trying to convince every butterfly in the building that she was worthy of being chosen. The owners had thoughtfully scattered orange slices around the greenhouse so visitors could hold one out and tempt the butterflies to land. It worked almost immediately. Before long she had one perched on her finger, staring back at her as though they'd been friends for years.

The look on her face was priceless. She radiated the kind of joy usually reserved for kids who have just discovered they possess magical powers. I'm fairly certain she believed she'd just been accepted into Hogwarts with butterflies instead of owls... and the rest of us muggles were simply carrying on with our ordinary lives.

Wesley gave the butterflies an honest chance too..... for about thirty seconds… then he'd swat them away when they got too close.. apparently personal space mattered today.

Then he moved on to what was apparently the real attraction.

The statues….. the garden tools…. the decorations... the mirror.. and finally the long crack running through that mirror that he immediately decided should probably be peeled apart to see what was inside.

It's honestly remarkable. Wesley has an incredible ability to locate the one object in any room that absolutely wasn't designed to be handled by a two-year-old. My day quickly became a familiar game of following a few steps behind saying, "Buddy... no... not that either..... definitely not that."

People often tell you it takes a village to raise a child.....

I'm beginning to think Wesley interpreted that as a challenge.

He's simultaneously the sweetest little boy you'll ever meet and one poorly timed decision away from becoming tomorrow's emergency room story. Whether it's making a run for a parking lot, discovering kitchen knives exist, attempting daring escape missions or deciding a cracked mirror simply has to be investigated, his curiosity operates at a speed my cardiovascular system simply wasn't designed to keep up with.

Meanwhile Finn was doing what Finn does best during family outings..... eating… or drinking I guess.

That usually means Sophie quietly disappears to a corner somewhere to feed him while I become solely responsible for making sure Wesley doesn't accidentally discover a brand new way to make tomorrow more expensive.

At one point I glanced over toward Sophie and noticed what I first assumed was part of the décor. Perched just behind her was this enormous butterfly with deep blue wings so perfect they almost looked painted. I genuinely thought it was a statue until it slowly opened its wings and drifted away.

Maybe I was just tired, but I couldn't help noticing that the most beautiful butterfly in the room had somehow chosen the most beautiful scene in the room. Sophie quietly feeding Finn while the world fluttered around them felt like one of those moments that asks nothing from you except to notice it.

I found myself reaching for my phone camera again.

I do that a lot.

Photos have become my way of holding onto the little things because sometimes, right in the middle of a perfect moment, I realize it's already beginning to end.

Eventually we'd accumulated the requisite number of family photos proving we had, in fact, visited the butterfly house, so we wandered through the little gardens before making the short drive over to the PEI Preserve Company.

If you've never been, they make some fantastic jams..... and yes, they'll ship them to you. That's either a helpful tip or a dangerous piece of information depending on how much self-control you have around toast.

By then it was creeping toward our early lunch, which with kids really means feed them now before someone completely unravels. We grabbed a few sandwiches from the café, found a shady spot outside and sat down to eat.....

Well..... most of us ate.

Wesley approached his sandwich as though it existed in multiple dimensions. Some of it made it into his mouth... some landed on the ground.. and some simply disappeared into the multi-verse never to be seen again. Every few bites he'd decide sitting was overrated and wander around a nearby bush, which meant one of us would abandon our own lunch to go retrieve him while Lola enthusiastically announced his latest escape attempt like an overly committed neighbourhood watch volunteer.

We'd originally planned to go inside afterward and sample a few jams, but my buddy's wife let us know she was ready to meet us at Brackley Beach with the boys. Faced with the choice between preserves and more beach time… that really wasn't much of a decision.

So we packed everyone back into the van and pointed ourselves toward the coast… well.. that was the plan anyway.

I confidently typed "Brackley" into the GPS, completely forgetting that "Beach" is actually a fairly important part of the destination. Sophie only realized something was off when we were getting near the end of the drive and somehow weren't getting any closer to the water.

A couple of unnecessary detours later we finally made it.

As we unloaded enough gear to suggest we were relocating there permanently, I made my customary series of return trips back to the van for all the things I'd forgotten. This is just what happens when your children believe mornings should begin at an hour normally reserved for bakery staff. By this point my brain was operating on whatever emergency backup system evolution quietly built into parents.

One thing I immediately appreciated about Brackley Beach was just how thoughtfully it had been designed. After escaping what felt like a coordinated mosquito attack near the entrance, we had the choice between stairs or a long accessible ramp down to the sand. Since we'd packed enough equipment to comfortably survive a small natural disaster, the ramp was an easy choice.

Even better, someone had laid down a long heavy mat that stretched out across the sand, making it possible to push strollers and wagons much farther than I would've expected. Whoever came up with that idea has almost certainly tried pushing a stroller through dry sand before.

We claimed a spot just off the end of the mat because even great ideas have their limits.

The kids didn't waste a second.

Buckets…. shovels… water.. sand.

Beach mode activated.

While they ran off, I stayed back with Finn. I dug out a little hollow in the sand, spread out a blanket and propped him up so he could watch everything going on around him. An umbrella gave him some shade until my buddy's wife generously offered us space inside their pop-up shelter… an offer we happily accepted.

Sophie was the first one brave enough to head into the water with the kids. When she came back her review was short and to the point.

"It's freezing."

Unfortunately for me, Finn had decided it was lunchtime, which meant Sophie and I traded jobs. She took over feeding him... I inherited water duty.

I'm sad to report her assessment was scientifically accurate.

The shrink-o-meter entered full panic mode almost immediately. For a brief moment I had two belly buttons.

Wesley, meanwhile, charged straight into the water as though hypothermia was little more than a polite suggestion. The advantages of being two, I suppose.

Lola had decided she'd rather stay closer to shore digging in the sand. Before long she announced she wanted to become a mermaid... more specifically, she wanted a mermaid tail.

After watching her make an admirable attempt herself, I stepped in to help shape the sand into something that looked… if we're being generous.. like a mermaid tail.

Wesley naturally interpreted this as a demolition project.

A couple of times he wandered over and enthusiastically undid all of Lola's hard work before I redirected his talents elsewhere. Once the coast was finally clear, we rebuilt it together, snapped a few pictures and then filmed the grand finale as she burst free, sending sand flying everywhere.

She absolutely loved it.

Not long after that the kids drifted into another game they'd invented. Wesley resumed his now well-established role as the monster while Lola and the youngest of the boys squealed their way around the beach trying to escape him.

He took his responsibilities very seriously.

Everything was going beautifully... right up until the monster started getting pelted with handfuls of sand and water. That felt like a good time to suggest the game evolve in a slightly less abrasive direction.

It was around then that Lola decided she'd spotted our tent further up the beach. The problem was... she'd actually spotted someone else's.

As it turns out, beaches are absolutely littered with blue pop-up shelters. Ours wasn't special. Lola's internal compass simply decided confidence was more important than accuracy that afternoon.

Before I really had time to process what was happening, she was already running up the beach with complete confidence that she knew exactly where she was going.

I, on the other hand… did not.

Normally I'd have just gone after her without thinking twice, but Wesley was still out in the water with the youngest of the boys.

Leaving him wasn't really an option either.

So for a few seconds I found myself doing that weird bit of parenting math where every answer somehow feels wrong.

Do I leave Wesley to go after Lola...

Or do I stay with Wesley and hope Lola figures it out before she gets too far?

Neither option felt particularly responsible.

So I settled for the only one I had.

"Lola!"

Nothing.

"Lola!"

Still nothing.

She just kept walking.

It's funny how a few seconds can suddenly feel much longer when they're your own kids. I never actually lost sight of her… but that didn't stop my brain from imagining every possible outcome between where she was and where I hoped she'd stop.

Thankfully, somewhere along the way she seemed to realize that none of this looked familiar. She stopped…. turned around… looked around for a second.. and then started making her way back toward us.

That was finally enough for me to get her attention and wave her back.

Problem solved.

Well… that problem anyway.

I remind the kids all the time that they need to stay where we can see them. Not because I don't want them exploring... quite the opposite really. I want them to explore. I want them to be curious. I just also happen to be rather attached to knowing where they are while they're doing it.

Eventually everyone drifted back toward the tent where Sophie and I swapped parenting duties yet again. Somewhere in the middle of all that my buddy finally made it over after work and joined us for the rest of the afternoon.

The kids kept playing... the adults chatted.. and before long the sun started making its way toward supper.

Eventually we packed up our small travelling village and headed back toward the van, somehow carrying slightly less food than we'd arrived with... but considerably more sand.

I'm convinced sand has only one real purpose in life. To discover places on your body you didn't previously know existed. Getting it out afterwards is about as achievable as convincing a toddler to calm down during a meltdown… or your spouse.. if you're feeling particularly brave.

Either way, baths were definitely in our immediate future.

Since it was the youngest boy's birthday, my buddy suggested we stop at Lone Oak for supper on the way back to their place. It sounded like exactly the right way to end a day at the beach.

The patio was wonderfully peaceful… Wesley was not.

He voiced his opposition to remaining seated with admirable consistency. Water was spilled... juice soon joined it.. and the volume steadily increased to make sure everyone within a respectable radius understood that confinement was not something he supported philosophically.

Eventually we decided everyone would probably enjoy supper a little more if he was allowed to burn off some energy.

Naturally, Lola wasn't far behind.

The two of them discovered a pile of pétanque balls tucked away near the back of the patio and immediately decided they'd found the evening's greatest source of entertainment. After a few minutes I convinced them those probably belonged exactly where we'd found them... much to their disappointment.

Before long it was time for birthday cake. We all gathered around, sang Happy Birthday and celebrated my buddy's youngest turning another year older.

Not long after the kids noticed the music drifting through the speakers. Without anyone suggesting it, the kids wandered over to the little stage and simply started dancing.

There wasn't an audience.... There wasn't a performance… there wasn't any choreography.. just a handful of kids completely unaware that anyone might be watching them.

It's funny how those are usually the moments that stick with you.

The ones nobody planned.

Eventually we called it a night and headed back to the house before somebody discovered another reason to delay bedtime.

Operation: Get Everyone to Bed began almost immediately.

Considering how much running, digging, swimming, chasing, and general chaos had filled the day, the kids actually settled down surprisingly easily after baths and a bedtime snack.

Once the house had finally gone quiet, the adults gathered around the table for a couple of board games.

It struck me later just how weird parenting actually is...

We spend an entire day trying to stop tiny humans from accidentally injuring themselves.... then reward ourselves by enthusiastically trying to eliminate one another in a board game.

It somehow makes perfect sense.

Looking back now, I don't think I'll remember what the sandwiches tasted like, or how many times I walked back to the van because I'd forgotten something.

I'll remember Lola believing butterflies chose her because she was magic.

I'll remember Wesley deciding the butterfly house's greatest attraction was everything that wasn't a butterfly.

I'll remember the enormous blue butterfly quietly settling behind Sophie while she fed Finn.

I'll remember a little girl absolutely convinced she'd found our tent.

I'll remember a group of kids dancing on a tiny stage simply because music happened to be playing.

Photos have become my way of holding onto the little things because sometimes, right in the middle of a perfect moment, I realize it's already beginning to end.

Maybe that's why I write these down.

Life is beautiful