Compromising, Romanticizing, Improvising

Not to be outdone by Jemma, Annie had to get her hair cut, too.  She wanted it short (like, well above her shoulders).  I didn't.  We compromised.  (At what age do you give your daughter creative control over her hair?)

You would think that it's all giggling and eating watermelon and sunshine around here every day.  You'd be wrong.  (But it was, on Memorial Day.)

So far, we've only had one or two truly gorgeous, sunny, warm "beach days" during our weekends at "the cottage."  In spite of that, we put on our bathing suits and go to the beach.  The girls beg to stay every time we try to leave, so we make one more sandcastle, do one more round of swings/slide/monkey bars, take another walk, eat some more pretzels, re-apply sunscreen, and listen to the sound the waves make for another hour or two.

The lawn really needed to be cut.  I know you're shocked that Jason didn't get right on that, given his penchant for yardwork and all, but it was clearly out of control.  We finally broke down and hired a lawn service after I spent part of the previous weekend crouching in the front yard, trying to trim it with hedge clippers.  (Surprisingly successful; unsurprisingly back-breaking and a good quad workout.)  

We also dug around the bottom of the bag of pretzels to scavenge for salt to put on our corn on the cob and edamame for dinner on Sunday night.  We also hang two beach towels from the curtain rod in Annie's bedroom in lieu of actual curtains and use an old sheet of my parents' from the 1970's as our beach/picnic blanket.  It's pretty bare-bones, down there.  In a good way.