Dear Son, What a week! I be just gettin' around to tellin' ye 'bout tis' past shore leave (weekend). It was ye second 'speak Like a scurvy pirate Day' celebration.
Last year ye just wore some piratey garb 'n sang a lot 'o sea shanties, but 'tis year we were ready fer an adventure!
Yer Treasure 'tis year consisted 'o 10 Pieces 'o Eight pillows, which we used fer many tossin' games...
'n some skull 'n cross bone chalk which we used to decorate th' patio.
We dug up buried coins, jewels, necklaces, crowns, 'n seashells in ye sand table.,, 'n played outside in an inflatable boat till th' seven seas got scary. A tempest was a' brewin'.
Th' dark winds did not trouble ye me fearless swabby; not even when th' power went out. Ye played wit' play-dough (better than salt dough) fer th' first time 'n LOVED it. Ye made seashell impressions in th' clay fer a long Long hour.
Yer Great great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great Grandpapa was a scurvy pirate... Well actually a privateer... 'n a failed one at that; However! A certain cabin jim laddie once signed on to his ship 'n when they got to Jamaica he jumped ship 'n went on to become Henry Morgan! A infamous cutthroat scurvy pirate indeed.... I wonder how history would have played out if that cabin jim laddie never boarded?
In th' evenin' we had yer first bonfire in true buccaneer fashion. We roasted apples 'n hotdogs over th' coals while ye soaked yourself wit' a garden hose. Ye were havin' such a jolly good time ('n it was keepin' ye away from th' fire) so I just let ye play in th' spray. A good soakin' sounded like a perfectly piratey thin' to do.
All in all th' day was a success, 'n ye, me wee swabby were worn to th' bone. I love ye, 'n G'nightfall. Slumber soundly me hearty.
love, Cap'n Mum~