Hot Termite

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.

Shackie Relations and the Sand Bar

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.

Greetings from Sullivan's Island

Baby Mama here. We left Dad in Brooklyn and after a 4 1/2 hour delay, Jane took her first flight on Sunday— New York to Charleston. She was thankfully an angel all day in the airport and BOTH times we boarded the plane. The second time we got on, we were allowed to bring the carseat since there were so many empty seats- you can see she clearly enjoyed the flight.
The beach digs are amazing. This is the view from our back porch each evening (apologies for the not-so-sharp image... my camera isn't great at handling the humidity). Last night we counted 15 kite boarders. What an amazing sport. Austin and I will be doing this by the end of next week.
I've barely held my daughter since we got here. Beavie and MO (aka Carol and Jeff—their self-appointed grandparent names...MO stands for "Magnificent One") don't let me. I think its safe to say they like her.
MO is working on his Ernest Hemingway look.
Rock & Roll Happy Hour was in full effect last night- though with MO in charge of the stereo, its actually Country & Western Happy Hour. I imagine that will change when Austin joins us here on Friday.
Austin sent an S.O.S. text late last night. Eating alone at the bar of some seedy establishment, lonely and depressed—clearly missing his girls. Stay tuned for more from SC... beach outfits and better photography are inevitable.
We miss you too.
xo Winz

The Gobbler

The Fiddler Leg turns 6 weeks today, she's sleeping in chunks now, pretty active during the day, and always a fuss factory come dinner time. Digs war movies and anything that involves making tracks. Mom hosts rock and roll happy hour, every evening, and the girls blast old Traffic / LZ records and bounce around the digs. Diapers remain interesting. She's got a new stunt in her playbook, stiffs one leg out, curls the other to her diaper, waves her hands back and forth. Resembles:


Of little interest, had a root canal on Monday, pretty terrible. Tooth died, from unnatural causes, doc hooked a car battery up to it to make sure we had no nerve activity. Again, floss the ones you want to keep, stay out of that chair.

From this morning's send-off:


Aunt Sandra of Alaska, along with Grand Uncle JJ and Emily, popped by on Monday for a gander. Jane countered with a fish face and conked out for the occasion.



Girls abandon me for Charleston on Sunday. Jane gets her wings.

Will post another video this weekend hopefully. Assuming fantasy football doesn't suck all my time.

Sandy Bums / Swamp Ass

The McKennas are back from Shelter Island. First time on S.I., first time on vacation with baby Jane. Total cinch. We brought 37 cubic meters of baby gear in the car, all of which got a workout in country. Doesn't bode well for the cross country trip in Sept. Dad's workout / resort wear may suffer.

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.