We had a terrific time camping at Padre Island National Seashore over Thanksgiving. The Wheats and Thomases joined us, and we had an excellent time. (The hammock kerfuffle with the homeless woman wasn't the greatest, but at least none of us got stung by a stingray like the poor Scandinavian fellow in the next campsite. Perspective, people.) We brought Thanksgiving leftover foil dinners and I made a pumpkin pie and an apple crumble in a box oven. And they said it couldn't be done! ("They" being Greg and David.)
The kids could not get enough of the beach. On our last morning the wind nearly blew us right off the campsite, but the other days were fair and mild. Tyler especially likes being buried, and Natalie spent hours in the surf. She tried boogie boarding and found that she liked it A LOT.
The wind was just right for a little kiting, so everyone took a turn.
For some unknown reason, there were no shells to be found, but there were plenty of Portuguese Man O' Wars scattered up and down the beach. Greg bucketed a live one for show and tell.
After dark Greg left for a run on the beach, and returned very quickly to let us know that the sand was overrun by crabs! We grabbed flashlights and headlamps and took the kids on a crab hunt, which they LOVED. As we adults ambled along, we would see the knot of kids take off across the sand, all their lights trained on a little crab fleeing for its life. We laughed our guts out. It was, hands down, the highlight of the trip.
Look at these monkeys! (SEA monkeys, that is.) Ella, Reese, Natalie, Tyler, and Isla. Reese probably just told the favorite joke of the weekend, which went something like this:
Reese: Knock, knock.
Natalie: Who's there?
Reese: Garbage!
That's it. That's the joke, and let me tell you, it KILLED every time.
Wheats, Willdens, and Thomases: camping fiends.
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