On the way home from the sunshine state we unanimously agreed to stop by the beach.
We love it there.
As soon as we cross the border I can smell it.
It pulls me in like gravity.
My father grew up there. His great grand parents settled there.
My Grandmother likes to tell stories of growing up on the beach.
I always feel gypped.
If I lived at the beach I would run in the sand everyday!
It has become a tradition of ours to FIND the "sheshell guy"
who is actually a lady.
The girls love to update their "sheshell" jewelry collection with her latest designs
that somehow always look the same.
As soon as we found her Kingston ran up and tackled her with a hug
as if she were his long lost grandmother.
Covering her smooth, shiny, jet black hair with sand.
{Kingston invited himself into the guy's game of baseball}
I unloaded the ice chest and served a quaint lunch seaside.
That was until the birds attacked us.
We even found one waiting for us back at the car.
I am assuming they heard we had a posh coop at home.
