The past few days have been spent moving in. More accurately, moving all of the leftover stuff out and then moving in. Imagine moving from a house to a bachelor apartment shaped like a rabbit's warren with many deep and mysterious closets. The previous owner left all of those closets stuffed to the gills, but you don't have the luxury of keeping your things elsewhere while you take his things out. So, for a week or two, you feel like you belong on Hoarders as you crawl over piles of things and try to dispose of everything you can. Meanwhile, your six- and two-year-olds are stuck in the apartment with you. Doesn't that sound like fun?
But really, it is fun. The girls have enjoyed digging in the sand and exploring the marina. Erik and Stylish are currently out in the dinghy, and Indy is attempting to rest. Blogger is resisting my attempts to upload photos, so that will have to wait.
Indy is demanding apple juice, so I will leave our preliminary report here.
UPDATE: Photo success!
*Erik insists I clarify that a gollywobbler is a quadrilateral staysail on a schooner, and, as such, we don't have one. Yes, this was his problem with my sentence. Not the use of "sheet" to refer to a rope. Not the mere existence of a word like "gollywobbler". No. Misleading use of (ridiculous) terminology. My apologies.