For Heather Openshaw:

You and Ron hadn't been able to go on a vacation for a while ever since your son had been born. The two of you had hectic schedules and when an opening arose where you could get away from the world, your son would be sick or otherwise needing of attention that you wouldn't be able to provide if you were to go on vacation. Finally an opportunity arose that would allow all three of you to go on vacation.

Ron's season had just ended and you were able to get two weeks off work. Your son was healthy and you quickly planned a trip to the beach. Because of the short notice, you weren't able to go anywhere extravagant but it did help that your family owned a private beach on the Italian coastline. You and Ron packed up and boarded a plane with your son and arrived in Italy soon after.

You guys would be staying at your family home on the beach. It was where your parents normally lived but they had gone to visit your sister in France for a month. Pulling up to the house, you pushed your son into the house via stroller. He was only a year old but he already was starting to look more and more like his father.

Ron grabbed the bags from the back of your rental car as you situated your son in the living room. Putting on some Italian kid's show, your son was soon memorized at the screen. Using the opportunity, you walked out to the car and helped your husband carry everything to the room. You and Ron would be staying in your childhood bedroom, with your son in the room directly adjacent to your childhood bedroom. It had been your sister's room and there was already a crib in there. A bathroom connected the two rooms. Placing the suitcases down, you and Ron headed downstairs to grab your son.

He had fallen asleep on the plane ride from Germany, which you were happy he did, and was now seemingly bursting with energy. "Want to go to the beach?" you cooed, picking up your baby and rubbing his small nose with your own. Your son giggled and babbled in baby language for a few moments. "I'll take that as a yes." You walked back upstairs as Ron went out to bring the car into the garage. You changed your son into a pair of swim trunks and a water shirt. Placing a hat on his head, you sat him in the crib for a moment while you went to change. Pulling on a bikini and a sundress over that, you retrieved your son.

Ron went into your room to change as you collected some shovels and sand toys from the shed outside. Ron met you and your son outside of the house and you all walked down to the beach together. Ron set up a small umbrella near the shore. You lathered your son in sunscreen, not wanting him to get sun burned by the blazing sun. Ron ran into the water and walked back, cooling himself off for a minute.

You pulled off your sundress and led your son over to the shore. His chubby legs wobbled as you neared the waves. Luckily, these waves weren't large or strong at all and it was easy for you to just sit and play with your son in the surf. Ron came up behind you and took your son into his arms. "These are pathetic waves. Let daddy show you some real waves," Ron told your son who looked indifferent. Resting your son on his chest, your son faced backwards as Ron headed into deeper water. You giggled how resting your son's head on your husband's shoulder had given your son a triple chin. He looked adorable. You waved at him.

When Ron got to about his knees, he took your son off his chest. With a hand on your son's butt and the other in front of his little chest, your husband put your son's whole lower half under the water, causing your son to squeal. You smiled as your husband repeated the action, causing your son to continuously laugh and squeal as the still cold water soaked his trunks. Ron returned with your son, who was still laughing hysterically.

You took your son into your arms, which calmed him down. Sitting in the warm sand, you held your son up. He could walk by himself but he hadn't ever walked on sand before which made his legs turn to jelly. Your husband walked over with a football. "Okay, (Y/S/N), take a shot at daddy," your husband said, kneeling on the sand.

Rolling the ball over to you, your son shot out his chubby leg and hit the ball back towards his father. Your husband grabbed the ball and rolled it at your son once again. Your son laughed and kicked the ball back to his father. The two of them continued their game until your husband started to blatantly miss the shots your son sent his way. "You scored, (Y/S/N)!" you cheered, raising your son in the air like you were lifting a trophy. You kissed his tummy and his cheek before setting him back down on the sand.

Your husband laughed at your son before taking him from your hands. "Well, we'll make sure you're a keeper first and then we'll work on striker," your husband stated. You knew that your husband wanted your son to follow in his steps as a goalkeeper. You knew that your husband only wanted the best for his son and that he wanted his son to achieve more than he had been able to do in his own life.

Signs of rain were on the horizon and you packed up your beach stuff. Pulling back on your sundress, you carried your son and his toys back to the house, Ron grabbing the umbrella and the other miscellaneous stuff you had brought down with you to the beach. You gave your son a bath and put him down to sleep. Ron came up behind you and smiled at the sight of his son sleeping in the baby version of his own jersey. Kissing your head, he led you into your own bedroom.