Lilly's birthday at the Outer Banks

We got up a little earlier than I wanted to today--last night was a late one, what with the gaming going to 2:30. There should be a law against Phase 10 at 2 am. Lilly woke up singing (that's pretty normal--I call her my sunshine, and she is a glass-half-full kid). Her song this morning was an improv around the theme "Happy Birthday to Me."

She got a few gifts from us and the folks vacationing with us, mostly Hannah Montana toys. We're big fans of that Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus. I have no shame in admitting that I often get teary when watching, even when the kids aren't in the room. And I know that there are other adults watching--why else would Disney put Hannah on the air at 11 pm? Lilly was so excited that she wanted to hang out at the house to play with the toys rather than go to the beach. She got whiny, started complaining about not feeling well...I thought she was faking just so she could stay inside and play. I let her hang out for a little while, then we trekked down to catch some tasty waves. I thought that all was well.

We decided to beat the rush to Jimmy's Buffet (congrats on those free t-shirts, Karl), so we headed over to the place around 3:00. What the establishment lacked in atmosphere and ambience, it made up for in quantity and quality of crab legs. Snow Crab, King Crab, Stone Crab...makes me grateful for those Deadliest Catch guys.

By the time we got to Jimmy's, however, Lilly was melting. She had a fever of 101.2, and was freezing cold. Not good. Kim got some meds into her system, and she perked up as we finished the crab-feast.

She felt good enough to hangout at the huge sand dunes at Jockey's Ridge. We watched the kites flying, waltzed through some of the quaint shops, and waited for the sun to set. The sand on the dunes is unbelievable--silky, cool to the touch, light as powder. We made an ice cream run to close the night, then headed home to get the kids cleaned up. Turns out they stole a pretty good sized chunk of those sand dunes, neatly snagged in their pockets as the kids rolled down the 100-foot hills. I guess I'll have to return the contraband tomorrow. Oh well, I am the dad...