If you’ve never tried eating a sandwich with a side of crunchy beach sand, you’re missing out on a true Florida delicacy. We packed up the kids, the cooler, and about half of our house (as you do for a “simple” day trip), and headed to Jensen Beach Park. And listen, if you’ve never hauled a wagon full of towels, boogie boards, sunscreen, snacks, and approximately 482 water bottles while yelling at your husband to “please not forget the umbrella this time,” then do you even have kids? We went to check this place out on our road trip to Miami after we read about in on the Port St. Lucie Mom Blog.
The first thing you notice at Jensen Beach is how wide and open the sand feels. Blanca immediately claimed a “spot” that apparently only she could see—smack in the middle of the beach traffic. Patrick dug a trench the size of a small moat and insisted it was for “protection.” From what, you ask? No one knows. Meanwhile, Dave was locked in a wrestling match with the umbrella, which had a personal vendetta against him. He swore it was “broken,” but somehow every other family around us had their umbrellas standing tall, like beach royalty, while ours looked like a sad taco.
I swear, the waves at Jensen Beach have their own personality. Not scary, but definitely the kind that will slap you right across the face when you’re least expecting it. Blanca thought she was starring in a mermaid movie, hair flipping dramatically with every splash. Patrick, on the other hand, was fully committed to “surfing” on a boogie board that barely floated, and every two minutes he came up yelling, “Did you see that?!” even if all he did was fall off. Honestly, that kind of confidence is inspiring.
At some point, I attempted the classic mom move of stretching out on a towel, pretending I was going to “relax.” Cue the sounds of kids screaming about jellyfish, Dave asking where the sunscreen went (it was literally in his hand), and Patrick dragging half the ocean back onto my towel with every run. Relaxation lasted about 23 seconds.
We did, however, conquer the beach snack game. Fruit that somehow tasted sweeter under the sun, chips that disappeared mysteriously fast (probably the seagulls), and yes—the infamous sandy sandwiches. I don’t know what it is, but PB&J with a little grit just feels like childhood. The kids didn’t even complain, which is basically the definition of a successful meal.
On the way home, the car was silent except for the sound of exhausted children breathing heavily, sun-drunk and salty, sprawled across the back seat. Dave and I just looked at each other like, “Worth it?” And despite the sand in places sand should never be, yeah. Totally worth it.
Beach days aren’t perfect. They’re messy, loud, and filled with way too many trips back to the car for the one thing you swore you packed. But man, they stick with you. Like the sand that’s still falling out of Patrick’s shoes.
