My whole life I've been watching her. My mom. She's been teaching me the rules of the road. This didn't just appear in my repertoire, this design thing. It is innate, because I've seen it in all the houses we ever lived in, in all the parties we've ever thrown, in all the moments we try to make great for our family and friends. She is more than half the reason I am the way I am.
So when I walked into this magical place that she and my dad created, I wasn't surprised. I've done this too. Plan, organize, plan, make notes, plan, visit, talk, and more planning. 63 boxes and a whole slew of other, well... stuff had accumulated over the past 6 months. And this weekend was d-day. We moved into the beach house.
On Friday night two burly movers hauled everything up at least one, sometimes two flights of stairs. And then it started. We went crazy. For three days we unpacked, put beds together, waited for more stuff from delivery men on Saturday (even more planning ahead), had some drinks along the way, and all in all had a blast completing the vision of John and Reanie.
(NOTE: All the while, there was no cable. We listened to the UT game on the radio, looked at our phones very little, never noticing what was creeping up on us... Hermine. Everything is fine though. David and I and Joanie and David left Monday, while Reanie and John had to wait out Time Warner Cable for their 5 hour window on Tuesday... typical. And then left shortly after.)
Without further adieu, here is the Marchand Family beach house.
Mom's sailboat. The whole basis for the shelving wall.
The details.
Master Bedroom.
Guest Bedroom 1
Guest Bedroom 2.
Kid's Bedroom.
2nd floor deck.
Boardwalk to the beach.
