My 7 essential rules of summer — and for ‘Finding Dory’

I think we found Dory. The kids tried to eat her, of course. Thanks to Pixar movies, they associate the ocean with the butter-goo that theaters put on popcorn. We’ll get to that in a second.

First, let’s honor what my pal Siskin calls “Mother Ocean.” On July days, Mother Ocean is my hot tub – I don’t like my public baths too warm or so crowded that, if I extend a leg, I might bump the bald guy on the other side. That always freaks me out.

So, for me, the ocean is my hot tub. And the Pacific is particularly warm this summer. Almost frightfully warm. But that’s not the only thing that stood out. Here are 7 rules you can always count on during a family day at the ocean.

Rule No. 1 at the beach: There will always be one splendidly pregnant woman in a string bikini about to give birth. She could be carrying quadruplets. She could be carrying Cleveland.

Rule No. 2: Most sand castles are terrible. But once in a while you will run across a masterpiece that apparently was carved by Da Vinci using an X-Acto knife, one grain of sand at a time.

Rule No. 3: Dolphins are the celebrities of the sea. Bystanders always smile and point, no matter how many they’ve seen.

Rule No. 4: Kids really like the stuff they find in Mother Ocean. I take them down to the tide pools on the premise of, “Hey kids, let’s go find Dory!” You know what they learned from Pixar movies? Nature smells like snack bars – let’s get some!

Carpe eat ’em. Seize the sea.

The tide pools, part of Mother Ocean’s kingdom.

(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times )

I, of course, discourage this. “Please don’t smash that poor mussel.” “No, we can’t make chowder from that sea gum clinging to rocks.” Still, they won’t leave Mother Ocean alone. They prefer their snacks a little salty. “Come on,” I finally say. “Let’s go eat some real food.”

“Pringles?”

Rule No. 5: In Southern California, the lifeguards’ motto is: “Save the children first.”

On this day, the lifeguard rescued a young woman who didn’t even need to be rescued. She was just floating out there, 30 yards offshore, minding her own business when the strapping young lifeguard raced into the surf pulling his little orange float, lunging, thrashing, gasping, as if auditioning for “Baywatch.”

“I hope I get the part, I hope I get the part ….”

Nearby was a mom thrilled that a fit young man was approaching her with such gusto. Well, Hasselhoff splashed right past her to reach the teenager. That’s who he saved, even though the poor kid insisted that she was doing just fine, thank you.

“What am I, chopped liver?” the mom huffed when she got to shore.

Welcome to L.A., right?

Rule No. 6: You cannot overuse the sunscreen. I suggest 10W-40, made by Valvoline, a full synthetic with real viscosity in extreme temperatures. To shield my susceptible Irish fleece, my dermatologist also recommended a pair of long johns.

No matter. I still get completely cooked. My skin does not look especially luminous. It looks like a Crimson Tide kickoff. It looks like the back side of Satan’s tongue.

The final rule: No matter how much you shower, the next morning you will still find sand on your pillow.

Aware of this, I shampoo twice, dig deep with my nails to remove the 10 hours’ worth of beach grit that had accumulated in my scalp – barnacles, s’mores, Pringles, mermaid drool, the whiskers of Neptune. The next day, there was still sand on the pillow.

What happens, I think, is that the sand flows from my ears during the night, gradually, as through an hourglass.

No hard feelings, Mother Ocean. We’ll soon be back. You’ll always be my summer love.

And you sure look good in blue.

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Twitter: @erskinetimes