We're back from the hot sands, though it wasn't an easy feat, our return. Got dropped off at the airport at 9:15AM, took off around 9:45PM. Couple planes, four passes through security, seven diapers, lots of bad words.
As usual, we were seated in the non-reclining chairs, the ones flanking the turdlet.
Daddy actually ordered a beer he couldn't pay for. They are like ten bucks now. Good thing the shoebox under your seat is still free.
Anyways, great trip, Sullivan's is totally boss and the house was perfect. Huge kee-yahs to the Beavers for organizing.
Mulling a milk cocktail.
She's discovered the hand sandwich.
I'm oddly addicted to the Olympics. Good thing I still got it.
She loves her baths now. Prior to this one, had achieved double milk neck / triple stink belly.
Foam Hands!
Charleston. En route to the Peers cocktail party. Mr. Beaver went banana yellow on the sportswear. View was insane.
Jane representing.
Bet you didn't know the tripod mount on your camera fits a lamp harp. I didn't.
Dad's eye color. Jane is showing blue steel at the moment.
Final day on the beach, with awards. Genius.
Hard to beat family hilarity.
xoxoxoxox
Fiddler Leg is telling stories, throwing gang signs. Developmentally, she's operating around 2013.
Dad is regressing. Who let this redneck on the beach?
Every day we defy death and swim out to the sand bar - my only stroke is the elementary backstroke, which propels me at steamer clip. It's that and doggy paddle. TK said they lose a couple relatives to the riptide every season. Also found out, from HK, that we're staying in his brother-in-law's place. That's an automatic sheet shazz.
Date night, last night, with sidekicks. The Magnificent One and GM Beav(ie) baby sat. We ate fried stuff and lifted most of the Kennedy valuables. Good times.
Here's TK with a Miller Chill.
All the K's, parking lot, SHEM CREEK:
The K's, 1983.
OK, 
The much anticipated porch series, starring Pretty McCuticle, Pancho, Lefty - set to the Enya:
Ring toss game, major bags of fun. Josh has mastered the no-look first toss. I will probably take his life savings tonight.
Mom has started to use the term "chill-axin" with alarming frequency.
Not pictured here, me working my ass off.
I think tonight is taco night.
Dad made it down to Charleston on Friday, after five days of separation from the girls. Had planned on a robust diet of call girls and multo expensive smelly cheese while flying solo, but work proved testy so settled for hungry man dinners and solo expeditions to the local feed troughs.
Caught up with the Beavers on Friday, this place is a warm slice of sloppy pie, and it sits over the ocean with regal jurisdiction. Note to parents: we're good for $20 a month if such a zip code falls under eventual jurisdiction.
Full house, Josh and Mary Margaret arrived same time I did, first time baby swaddlers those two, hijinks immediately ensued. The pictures do it better justice than me, so I'll keep the running commentary brief.
A couple before we rogered off to Chucktown, this taken at the beerhall with our one armed bandit:
The joy of an airplane outfit:
My beach babies:
Josh makes initial contact:
View from the poop deck:
Those are my white, pirate pumps:
Mary Margaret and the Beav, night one, dish duty:
Shade station on the 28 mile mark - this was a ten minute touch down, immediate yoohoo.
Project aborted, finds solace in thumb (first).
Schecky Fatfoot with his miss dirty fingernails.....I continue to look ten. She digs naked.
Uncle Hunter!
Clear who's bringing down the handsome quotient. Apologies for the Camp Lejune.
Neighbors, hurricane house.
Grandpa M.O. and Baby Jane, on dawn patrol:
The competition, Pope Kennedy, charting a 10.5.
Naps are for closers.
MM, fearless, efficient, Tom Petty fan.
The engineer of all this genius, signaling cocktail hour.
No caption can capture this Griswald moment:
Kris Kristofferson, desert.
Vanity Fair, without the adverts:
More in the morning I guess. Got ghost crabs to rally.
I'm oddly addicted to the Olympics. Good thing I still got it.
She loves her baths now. Prior to this one, had achieved double milk neck / triple stink belly.
Foam Hands!
Jane representing.
Bet you didn't know the tripod mount on your camera fits a lamp harp. I didn't.
Dad's eye color. Jane is showing blue steel at the moment.
Final day on the beach, with awards. Genius.
