The digs were hilarious. Reminiscent of the Lake Norman days, with a 10 million dollar view. Dad locked us out of the bedroom night one, which required locksmithery. Another first. Not to be defeated, we countered with a preposterously expensive dinner at the Vine St. Nothing ten beers can't fix.
Realized these posts are starting to sound like that chain Xmas letter you get every year, and you know the one I'm talking about. But the aunts seem to like the pictures.
Our quarters:
Jane, admiring the sights:
The property is in the Mashomack reserve, and the beach connects to something called Taylor's Island. When the tide is out, you can walk directly to the house there. We gave it a shot,
The sun was kind of intense, so we put the chooch in the holding cell. UV protected... The girls encouraged the A-man as he yet again went o-fer on the striper mission.
Dad geared up with the Bjorn and went hunting for horseshoe crabbage.
Jack-assery!
Trial run in the bathing duds. High concept, middling execution.
On Saturday, we trekked over to the Beck compound in Southhole; Ron / Jess / Scarlett / Lily / Beck / HH / Ambrielle / C. Newman / Oscar / Celeste on the property. Beach time, wiffle ball, the nines.
Beav with Baby Lily. Awesome times. Ron said they made the same baby. These girls are tremendous fun.
Scarlett looking most boss.
Quadro hotties, double Bjorning it:
Cancel! Active wear from dad.
Charles was way late on this one.
Cocktails on the poop deck. Uncle Trey was a huge hit. Has volunteered for babysitting.
CODA. I'm pretty lucky.
The girls take off to the Beaver family junket on Sunday. Dad's holding down the fort solo, smells like meat week.
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