Beach Boys

We finally made our way to Virginia Beach in late August for the first time - the boys' first ever beach trip. They were enthralled. Wyatt was fearless as usual, trying to throw himself headfirst into the waves. Max was a little more cautious, but nonetheless wanted to spend every minute standing along the shore. The second best part were the fighter jets flying directly overhead, solo and in pairs, about ten times a day (dubbed "Echo" and "Bravo" by the boys). I think we still have sand in our pockets.

A pretty awesome thing happened the first night when we were out strolling. A couple was leaving to go home and handed Max and Wyatt their kites. They were more than happy to take over the helm. 

After an early morning and lots of romping on the beach, the boys crashed on the bed.

Max and Mom were up early the next day, and picked up a "breakfast of the (vacationing) champions"  from the nearby 7-11: a quart of skim milk and a box of Krispy Kreme donuts. 

Kisses for Dad.

Bravo! (Max actually corrected me later when I told him what I wrote; he said, "That's Echo, not Bravo.")

Try as I may, I could not get the boys to look at the camera for this picture. They just wanted to watch the water lapping at their feet.