crabbing.

I take back everything I ever said about going to Panama City and not catching crabs. 

Last Thursday evening as dusk fell we headed down to the beach in search of a smaller, less stealthy version of crab. 

(Be forewarned: you are about to see some shaky night photography which is far from my forte. Bear with me.) 

Twilight is a beautiful time at the beach. There’s a gentle breeze and an undoubtedly gorgeous sky. 

And if you’re lucky - 

really, really lucky - 

and you brought along your flashlight, 

there are crabs. 

Sarah was delighted to catch her first crab, and she instantly wanted to keep it as a pet. Being the stellar, permissive mother that I am I told her that if she touched it she could keep it. 

I thought I knew my daughter. 

Turns out I don’t. 

She named her Kookie. 

When “Kookie” escaped from the net I can’t say I was disappointed. I tried reasoning with Sarah that Kookie needed to stay on the beach with her Mommy so we probably weren’t going to be able to keep her anyway. But it was to no avail. Wailing and flailing ensued. It was time to pack it in so we walked Kookie-less pack to the house (thank goodness) where Granddad and Uncle Craig soothed her spirit with a bowl of cookies and cream (thank goodness). 

And that, my friends, 

Is how I finally caught crabs in Panama City Beach.

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