We're at the beach

We are in Lewes, Delaware, doing what middle-class people do on the East Coast in July: renting a house for a week at the beach. It is GREAT! We rented the cheapest, smallest beach house I could find in this very old, historic small town, and it turns out to be a 1950s cottage totally untouched by renovations, as snug and sweet as a boat. It's completely paneled with knotty pine inside, and has a big screened porch and an outside shower for washing off after swimming. It is old-timey-beach-fantastic. Henry and Agatha are sharing one tiny room (Henry turned the head of his bed to the foot so that his head would be right by Aggie's crib), and we are in the other. Perfect for us. Best of all, it is only a few steps from the beach-- we don't even need to put on shoes to go there from home. Already we have been back and forth to the shore (it is actually on the Delaware Bay) about 10 times since we arrived. Last night we took turns watching the fireworks on the beach (one person stayed at the house with the sleeping kids)-- you could see them all the way up and down, like tiny blossoms in the night sky. Today we went into the town of Lewes, just a few blocks away, and toured an old lightship-- a floating lighthouse-- moored in the canal there (that's where this picture was taken). Now Henry and Michael are at the beach while I'm home with napping Agatha. When she wakes, I'll walk down with her and join them.

Henry is on cloud nine. He could hardly wait to get here, and when we first ran down to the beach he couldn't stop pointing things out: "Look, Mom, a seagull! A pier! Look at that sailboat! Is that a rescue boat?" When I answered that it was a ferry boat, he asked, "Are there fairies on it?"