Meet Booguloogu

The book fair at my daughters' schools this year had an alien theme.  I believe it was "To the Book Fair and Beyond".  I was on the committee.  We did a lot of alien related contests and art, including an alien art contest where the winners got their drawing on a t-shirt.  The kids decorated their classroom doors with aliens and this week, as a reward for making the money goal set for the fair, the principals of the three schools are dressing up like aliens for a day.

So aliens have been on the brain lately.

Yesterday Signe came home with the following letter:

It was a spelling exercise where she had to write a letter using her spelling words for the week.  The underlined words are her spelling words.  In case you can't make out the writing from my picture, it reads:

Dear Avery,

Over the weekend an alien fell down from outer space.  I made friends with him. I did shake his hand. It  made my hand blue. I made cookies and washed my hand. I asked him what is your name. He said booguloogu.

Love,
Signe

I took the picture because she wanted to actually give the letter to her friend and I wanted to document how stinkin' cute it was! 

Flying at The Speed of Light. . . And Pausing to Appreciate it

Writer's Workshop with Mama Kat

. . . because apparently I need a kick restart.

Prompt:  3.) Married? Tell us the story of how the question was popped.



It's mid November.  I swear it was just summer!  Apparently we are doing so much living these days that I can't seem to find time to document the process.  My pictures are back logged and great posts are going unwritten.  Take my anniversary, for instance.  It was July 26th.  I believe we were en route from Idaho to Utah that day, in the midst of our ten day summer vacation that encompassed three destinations including friends, family, and a family reunion.

14 years.

While rummaging through a couple of old journals the other day, looking for stuff about a high school boyfriend that I planned to use for an assignment in my Young Adult Literature class, I came across the entries about meeting Rob.  Seriously! How I thought I was so mature is beyond me.  I was 18.  And it was my journal--you are allowed to be self-absorbed when writing in your journal right?

I met Rob while attending Boise State University.  We were both studying and started talking.  I had been broken up with my high school boyfriend for all of two weeks.  I was a freshman, he was senior.  At the time I thought little of it.  I left and went about my merry business.

Okay.  To be honest, I do remember one thing.  He had this habit of raising one brow up when he was speaking that I thought was cute.

Rob, on the other hand, found out everything he could about me, and came back to that exact place to study every day in hopes that I would return.  I only went to that place once a week.  The following week he was there.  We chatted.  He lent me his abnormal psych book with his class schedule tucked inside.  His subtle attempt to win me over with his brainiac classes was lost on me.  I never really looked at it.

A few days later I arrived at school in a downpour.  As I rushed in from the parking lot I bumped into Rob coming up the sidewalk.  What seemed a lucky coincidence I would later find out was totally contrived.  He had stood in the rain for half an hour waiting for me to arrive so he could "bump" into me. I promised to meet him after school to return his book and hurried off to math.

After class I met him and he introduced me to his cousin, Jackie.  Two hours later I told him I had to get going and that if he planned on asking me out he'd better get to it.  He asked me out. . .

That was early November.  By Christmas we had a trip to Disneyland planned for January.  By the time we took the trip Rob was hinting at his intention to marry me and my mom was rooting for a proposal by Valentine's Day.

I mentioned I was 18 right.  I'd known him less than three months at this point.

I did not get a Valentine's Day proposal.  But by this time we had been looking at rings, so I knew it was coming.

After school on March 5th, Rob and I went to Dairy Queen for ice cream.  We often stopped there on our way home after school.  Rob walked me to my car and as I got in he knelt down beside my door.

Yes.  We are now in the Dairy Queen parking lot.

He pulled out the ring and proposed.  All I could think was, "You can't propose in the Dairy Queen parking lot! People will want to know how you asked me! In a parking lot?!"

Of course I said "Yes!"

Then I asked him what he was thinking, proposing in a fast food parking lot.

Turns out he had a grand scheme to propose on my birthday, March 9th.  But then he decided he couldn't wait another week, so he planned this big deal at a park with a romantic picnic and a special book.  But when he went to pick up the ring, they had mounted the wrong diamond.  He had to come back the next day to pick it up.

Plans ruined.

So the next day he got the ring.  Apparently it  was burning a hole in his pocket--hence the parking lot proposal. Even now, once he decides to do something, look out.  He did present the book, though.  He had gotten a copy of the children's book "Guess How Much I Love You?" by Sam Mcbratney.  Only he replaced the mama bunny and the baby bunny with our names.  He loved me.  A LOT.  And despite the location of the proposal, the feeling was mutual.

And we lived happily ever after. . . .

Well, we're working on it.  
Here's what I have learned from 14 years of marriage:

1. It's a miracle we have such a fabulous relationship even still considering how young we were and how quickly we got engaged, or maybe it's simply the result of us not being old enough to be set in our ways so we grew up together.

2. If one of my daughters decides to get engaged at 18 and married at 19 I will lock her in her room for 5 years.

3. Getting an education after getting married and having children is doable, but way more work than doing it the other way around.

4. Life never works out quite like you planned it, but what you get out of life is in direct proportion to what you put into it.

5. How you are proposed to isn't half as important as how you are treated on a daily basis, but it was an accurate representation of how romantic our marriage would be--at least in grand romantic gestures.  But love is really about remembering to put gas in my car for me, and less about grand declarations.

6. Every girl occasionally wants a grand declaration!

7. #4 applies equally to marriage.  So in answer to #6, every girl should occasionally perform her own grand declaration.

8.  Children are a fabulous blessing, and family date nights are essential, but they shouldn't replace ACTUAL date night.  Nothing beats dressing up and going out like giddy young love birds.

9. Men and women both need similar things from a relationship, but that doesn't mean they get it the same way, or give it the same way.  Hence the full gas tank instead of flowers or flowery words.  [Note to self: Do something practical and productive for Rob--he'll appreciate it more than any grand declaration.]

10.  I am one lucky girl who loves her husband more today than the day she married him (not surprising since she'd known him all of 9 months at the time), and is unequivocally adored in return!

Hood to Coast

Running is not really my thing.  It's the thing Rob makes me do, which I complain about and manage to quit more often than I quit drinking diet Dew.  But whereas drinking a nice, cold Dew is nice and refreshing after a long separation, running after a long break is AWFUL.  I would know.  I take lots of long breaks.  Rob doesn't.  He plugs along rain or shine, heat or cold, sick or well, shins splints, runners knee, Achilles heal, blisters, hip pain. . . well you get the idea.  And luckily he has been running long enough that he doesn't have these problems frequently anymore.

He started running about two years ago, but didn't get really serious until about a year ago, at which time he went at it like his life depended on it.  Which I guess he figured it did.  Within a couple months he had lost 50 lbs! He started looking like a kid in dressups, or a cancer patient--people actually asked if he was sick because his suits drowned him.  I may have mentioned all this before.

At any rate, a few months back a couple people that work with Rob contacted him about joining their Hood to Coast team.  It's a race where a group of 12 people run a relay from Mount Hood to Seaside, Oregon.  200 miles.  Three legs each.  Rob informed them he would think about it and get back to them.  A few days later he got an email welcoming him to the team and giving him his leg assignment. . . THE hardest leg of the run.

If I've learned one thing about Rob, it's not to tell him he can't do something.  Unless, of course, I want him to do that very thing.  He likes to prove people wrong.  Usually it's an attractive trait.  After I heard the description of his leg of the race (as posted on the OHSU Sports Medicine blog) I worried he might kill himself:

Leg 5: Thirteen miles of rolling hills are a mere warm-up to what awaits you at the end: the gnarliest hill you’ll see outside of a Swiss Miss ad. It just keeps effing GOING, and there’s nothing you and your little split shorts can do about it to make the pain stop. Do your team a favor: throw some absolute bad-ass on this set of legs, then do the honorable thing and look the other way when he’s crying at the 3-mile mark.

Fun, right!?

He was determined to do, and do it well, because even though the others gave him a hard leg, they were all pretty serious runners.  So despite not really being ready for a race that would last 36 hours and afford little to no sleep (the two hours he did get were in a sleeping bag in a farmer's field), he did remarkably well.  I am just thankful he didn't die on the way.  He was too.  He was also glad he wasn't one of the many runners he saw run until they puked and then run some more.

Did I mention they pay to be a part of all this torture?

The funniest part is that he thinks he might get me to do it with him next year!!

I may not have run the race, but my parents joined me and we drove to the coast to meet Rob at the finish line. . . and stay in a beach house and play for a few days.  THAT part of Hood to Coast I can handle, and would willing do again next year!

Keeping the Magic Alive

I like to think I am a fairly good parent.  But nobody's perfect.  That's what I tell myself in cases like this one.

With your first child, everything that happens is grand and exciting because it is a first for you as the parent as well.  I often lament being the 6th child in my own family because things apparently get less noteworthy.  The boxes of pictures of my oldest brother became a mere handful by the time I was toddling around the world. Though there are certainly other perks to being a younger sibling.  I'm not exempt to this inconsistency in parenting, although photography is one area where I differ, my youngest has far more pictures than my oldest because I took up photography after the oldest was out of diapers, but I digress.

Last week, Signe got her wish (well one of them, anyway).  She lost a tooth at school.  This is a big deal--because they make it a big deal.  She even got a certificate signed by the principal for losing her tooth at school. Despite it being the 8th tooth she has lost (which I only know because she told me, not because I kept track), she came home thrilled, proudly displaying her tiny little baby tooth in a plastic baggy, along with her certificate, like it was trophy.

As it turns out, it was probably a good thing somebody made a big deal out of it, because apparently it wasn't going to be me! At least, not in a way that would make my seven year old happy.

The first night Signe forgot to put the tooth under her pillow for the tooth fairy.  Shocking in and of itself, but not as shocking as what was about to happen. . . twice!

The second night she had a sleepover at a friend's house and so didn't put the tooth under her pillow.

The third night, she remembered.  With giddy excitement she tucked the tooth under her pillow and snuggled down to sleep, bidding us all to hurry and go to sleep so the tooth fairy would come.  Rob and I then had what we like to call our parent party, which means we do whatever we want, kidless.  On this night we watched a movie and went to bed.

Did you catch that?  We watched a movie. . . and then went to bed.

Monday morning:

"Mom! The tooth fairy didn't come!  I put my tooth under my pillow and it was still there this morning!" She holds up the baggy as proof of the tooth fairy's negligence.  Did I mention she had a friend over for a sleep over? I was on the verge of destroying not only my daughter's innocent belief in magic, but her friend's as well.

Crap.

"That's weird."  I say, and rack my brain for an excuse--for the tooth fairy, of course.  "Maybe she. . . "

"Is she even real?!" Sig asks, hand limp at her side, baggy dangling, face crestfallen.

"Of course she's real!" Avery argues.  "Just like Santa!"

"But magic is not real."  Signe states, more as a challenge than as a matter of fact.

"Sometimes magic IS real." I tell her.  I am not handling this well.  Luckily, Signe's brilliance saves me.

"Oh!" She suddenly shouts. "It's Labor Day! That's probably why she didn't come!"

Relief.

I have a second shot at being a good parent--that is, if you believe lying to your kids about made up things like Santa and the Tooth Fairy is good parenting. I tend to think it is--childhood should be magical as long as possible.

"I bet you're right! Let's try again tonight." I say, then chant in my mind, "Don't forget. Don't forget, DON'T forget!"

But then Signe forgets to put it under her pillow for two nights.  It might have had something to do with excessive Taekwondo practice and loads of homework and various other exhausting activities.

As a side note, last year we let Hannah in on the whole magic gig.  She understands that the magic of Santa is one we create--which doesn't make it less real--and things like the tooth fairy are really just us parents, keeping the magic alive.  She was on to us anyway, and she loves being in on the conspiracy now.  She gets to help make the magic now, which is WAY more cool.

Okay, Wednesday night, during our parent party (TV and popcorn--the usual), Hannah sneaks down and clues us in:

"I thought you should know that Signe just put her tooth under her pillow." It's good to have her on our side now because clearly we need her help.

"Perfect! Thanks for the reminder." At which time we finish our show. . . and then we go to bed.

"Again! The tooth fairy didn't come AGAIN!"  Signe wails as she runs into my room the following morning.  Hannah hurries in behind her and throws her hands in the air, a look of disbelief and disgust on her face.  Seriously, I think she might just find some money to put under Signe's pillow herself if I don't remember again.  But first, damage control.

"Oh my goodness!  What could possibly make her not come again?"  No really, what excuse could fix this?  Got any ideas? I didn't.  "Maybe so many kids have lost teeth that she is behind schedule?"

She looks at me, eyes narrowed, considering.

"Oh! I know what it was!" My husband jumps in.  "I forgot and I set the alarm. I bet she couldn't get in because she didn't want to set off the alarm!"

Aaaand she buys it.  Jeez we are bad parents.   That night she speculates to Rob about why the tooth fairy really keeps forgetting.  Maybe her tooth is too dirty and not good enough.  Maybe the tooth fairy is on a new schedule.

Maybe I had better not forget again!

Last night. I sneak into her room. . . and can't find her tooth under her pillow, or anywhere.  I suggest putting the money under there anyway, but Rob reminds me it might look bad if she finds her tooth later.  Luckily I spot it on my nightstand.  I decide I will tell her I put it under for her and I stash the tooth with her previously lost seven (because keeping baby teeth isn't gross or anything), and tuck a $5 bill under her pillow.  Yes I am trying to buy her off.  It's been a week since she lost her tooth, the tooth fairy probably owes interest or something.

This morning? Happiness and dancing.  Phew.  She did try and fake me out though.  She came in all sad and tried to pretend the tooth fairy had forgotten again, then whipped out the money to show me she HAD come. . . finally.

Next time I better not forget.  She has several more to loose, it could get kind of spendy.

It's really a good thing I only have two kids.  Just imagine what I might forget if I had more, let alone EIGHT like my own mother.

What have YOU forgotten lately?

The Adventures of Cowboy Jones

If you can't remember what it was like to be a child, one that uses their own imagination instead of just playing video games, I could lend you my daughter.  Or at least give you a glimpse into her world.  Sometimes its a little harry in there, but I guarantee you WILL be entertained.  I like to think her vast and varied imagination comes from me. . . but sometimes it's so full of crazy it can only be blamed on Rob!

Remember, this is the same girl who told me she only really saw the things in her head, not the real world, and that she didn't want to grow up and lose her magic.  I hope she doesn't.

A couple weeks ago the girls had dentist appointments.  Our dentist gives you tokens as a reward and they have a couple machines in the lobby where you can redeem them for trinkets--bouncy balls, magic growing foam creatures, temporary body tattoos, bracelets, etc.  Signe put in her token and out popped a. . . fake mustache.

One might assume that a seven year old girl would be disappointed by such a reward.  But no, her eyes narrowed, the wheels in her head started spinning.  Then a grin popped onto her face, accompanied by a little giggle.


We drove home. I forgot about her prize and went about my day.  About a half hour later, a stranger emerged from our playroom. . .

I laughed.  Then said, "It's Mustache Louie!"

(Mustache Louie has been a joke in the house since Hannah started 6th grade and came home from her first day of riding the middle school/high school bus slightly horrified that a kid on her bus had a mustache!--her emphasis.  We nick named him Mustache Louie.)

She had me take this series of pictures to make it look like she was moving!

"No! I'm Cowboy Jones!" She corrected me.  "And I need to go next door." To show her friend Avery, of course.  As luck would have it, Avery was at the door.

She had to add gloves because she had on purple nail polish which might give it away that she was actually a girl!

After Signe got over the disappointment of not getting to surprise her friend, the two of them concocted their own surprise plan, unbeknownst to me.  It went something like this. . .

Avery and Signe rode their bikes (aka horses) back to Avery's house (Avery just got a new very big bike and they were obsessed with riding bikes--especially around the loop, which required grownup supervision).

Avery went in her front door and Signe waited on the stoop.

"Hey Mom and Dad! I got tired of waiting for Signe to get back and so I rode my bike around the loop by myself!" and quickly before the parents' astonished faces could turn into admonishments. "And I found a new boy to play with. . . and here he is!" Grand gesture toward front door followed by sweeping entrance of Si-- I mean Cowboy Jones.

Again, imagine motion--her idea.  

Then, as fun as that was, they decided they could stretch more fun out of a free, fake mustache (and a leather vest and cowboy hat from Hannah's Jessie [Toy Story] Halloween costume--age 2), so they trekked off to find Avery a suitable side kick costume.

And shortly thereafter we have. . .

Rodeo Clown Kate!  (My camera battery had died by then so all I got was a bad cell phone picture.) Sig wouldn't smile because she was "a man".

The two swapped costumes and played for hours.  THAT is what childhood is really all about!

Happy Friday!

Unlimited potential. . .

My daughter starts 7th grade next week.  My first born is growing up.  I remember when the girls were small, I couldn't wait to see what they would grow up to be.  What kind of people they would become.  Hannah is getting old enough I feel as though I am getting glimpses of the woman she is growing into.  For the past four years, I have almost not noticed how much growing up she has been doing.  And even though she started middle school last year, I was relieved that she was a bit of a tomboy and wasn't into boys and makeup and catty girl mind games.  I got to keep my little girl a little longer. . . even if that meant she wore jeans and hoodies and converse shoes that got mixed up with the boys' shoes on a regular basis.  Most of Hannah's friends, you see, are boys.

When we lived in Utah, Hannah was pretty girly.  All her friends were girly and into dress-ups and clothes and dolls--and we had plenty of love-hate girl drama.  At the beginning of third grade we moved here, and the first person she met was Jacob.  He became her best friend and has remained so ever since.  So in the 5th grade when the girls at school would cluster together in the school yard and giggle about boys, all the while smoothing their hair and refreshing their lip gloss, Hannah would innocently suggest they actually go hang out with the boys instead of just talking about them.  When they refused, acting as though she was suggesting they fly to the moon, rather than walk across the school yard and do what they had been doing for years, she would simply shrug her hoodie clad shoulders and join the boys out on the ball field.  She didn't worry about fashion, she could hardly be bothered to shower regularly, and she sure didn't wear lip gloss!  The only concession she made, was when she drew a red star on her black and white converse so she could differentiate her shoes from the three other boys' shoes after they had kicked them in a pile on the side of the gym.

When she was in sixth grade, I took her to a hair salon and let her get highlight and a layered hair cut.  I thought perhaps we could instill a little girliness in her--or at least a little feminine hygiene.  She came home and announced that her friends hardly noticed her hair--they are boys after all--but she was pleased that Adam had noticed the highlights and Karl had noticed the cut.  Everyone else looked at her like "Who cares?" when she asked them if they had noticed.  She even bought a couple outfits that consisted of more than jeans, t-shirts and sweatshirts.  Or course, the first time she wore her denim skirt with leggings to school, Jacob looked at her and stated, "You're wearing a dress!"  with confusion coloring his voice.  "I am a girl." was Hannah's reply.  "I know," Jacob admitted, "but THAT is not your style!"  To which Hannah shrugged. . . and joined the boys in a game of foursquare.  I thought maybe change was coming, until the day she came home from school and found me in the kitchen.

"Mom," she started, plunking down on a bar stool.  "Did you know there are girls who get up like two hours before school and shower and blow dry their hair and curl it and put makeup on--every day?!"

I smiled.  "Most girls do.  Would you like to start doing that?"

"NO! Why would I want to do that?"   Alas, her girly-hood had not arrived.

At Christmas time, her one close girl friend (who was taking the fashion world of middle school by storm--insisting she must wear her sun glasses in doors because it looked cool, and they matcher her outfit), moved to Alaska.  Leaving Hannah in a sea boys.  One day I picked Hannah up from school during lunch and was greeted with a table of 15 jostling boys. . . and Hannah.  But for Christmas, one of those boys sent a present home with her--a necklace.  Hannah looked mildly embarrassed about it when asked, but wore it for a while and didn't mention the boy's name more than any other boy she hung out with.

On Valentine's Day, she brought home a candy heart, a small stuffed teddy bear, and a necklace--all of which she reluctantly admitted were from the same boy.  But still she didn't mention him often.  She continues to play legos with Jacob and barely thought about her appearance.

By the end of the school year, Hannah was stealing my clothes and shoes (she is now my same shoe size) on a regular basis (despite the oft repeated claim that MY style was NOT her style), because no matter how often I offered to take her shopping for new clothes she would balk.  She hates shopping more than I do. Though, she mostly just "borrowed" t-shirts and casual shoes.

When Hannah's one good girl friend moved away, we let the girls open facebook accounts so they could more easily keep in touch.  Neither of them use it often (though they both are beginning to more now), and all Hannah's activity gets sent to my email, so I can keep track of what's going on.  Very little is going on. Many of Hannah's female friends make picture collages on a regular basis that she is often included in, and they make a lot of 1-5 word comments filled with abbreviated spelling: lol (laugh out loud)  idk (I  don't know)  omg (Oh my gosh)  gtg (got to go), etc., and a lot of bad spelling!  But little else.  However, a a month or so ago I was amused to see an email pop up in Hannah's fb account that read:

Christopher has updated his relationship status to say that you two are in a relationship.
Please confirm this relationship status:


I laughed.  This was THE boy.  It reminded me of when I was in grade school and a boy (or girl) would pass a note that read, "I like you, do you like me? Check the box."  Is this how one asks one out these days?  Or was this simply a formality and I had missed the official request?  All I know is Hannah rarely checks her messages, so after about a week I mentioned it to her.  She blushed and acted embarrassed, and didn't "confirm the relationship" for a couple of weeks.  I know I was watching.  So she kept the poor boy in suspense for a while.  Good for her.  Not that she seems to take the whole thing too seriously, but still.


The same day she "confirmed," She asked me to curl her hair for her.  So we did her up.  I even let her try a little mascara, because I really wanted to see how long those eye lashes were.  Seriously long.  She enjoyed the girly time and wanted me to take her picture so she could update her facebook picture and then asked if we could go somewhere.  She stood in my bathroom doorway and hesitated while I put stuff away.


"Mom,"  She started quietly.


"Yes?"


"You know how you say if you get all cleaned up it makes you feel good. . . and, like, more confident?"


"Yes.  Are you feeling confident?" I asked


"Yes.  Are we going anywhere today?"  I knew just how she felt.  Some days, when you feel like you look really good, you just want to go somewhere and show it off.  Sure looks aren't everything, and certainly not most important, but sometimes feeling good about yourself, even your looks, is nice.  Her girly-hood is starting to arrive.  I hope it's mild.  I'm kind of partial to my little tomboy.  I like the mostly drama free friendships she has with boys.  I'm not looking forward to worrying about boyfriends--neither is her father.  He got one look at the pictures we took and said, "That's not good! I might need a bigger gun."  

Rather than freak out about her growing up, we are trying to make it a smooth transition (though we often freak out on the inside!).  We recently took her shopping and stopped by the MAC store and let her get her first make-up (mascara, lip gloss and blush), and even had the girl working there put it on her and show her how to do it herself.  And just last week she asked if she could subscribe to a magazine, so her dad helped her pick one out. THAT was fun to watch!  And her new school clothes? Hardly a hoodie in sight!

She's a beautiful girl, inside and out.  And she is making such good choices.  She has become so much more responsible, even babysitting her sister for short periods and doing her chores more willingly.  She also joined the mentor group at school and looks forward to helping out the new six graders when school starts.  When I look at her I realize her whole life is ahead of her and it's filled with endless possibilities.  If nothing else, I hope she keeps her ability to do her own thing, and that she realizes she is capable of doing anything she sets her mind to do.

My How Time Flies. . .

Clearly summer has been one crazy, fast-paced whirlwind, judging by my absence here.  I could recount the minute details of our summer, but I will hit only the high points--the ones with great pictures.  Starting with our trip to Utah.

Four years ago, on August 20th, Rob and I flew to Washington from Utah to house hunt.  Three days and 60 houses later. . . we found one!

Leaving Utah was hard.  I wanted to leave, was so ready to leave, but once the actual leaving took place, I was a MESS.  Leaving my friends was really harder than I imagined it would be.  Or maybe I just hadn't taken time to imagine that aspect--I was too busy imaging the new place!  So it is strange that despite one trip back a couple months after we moved, I had let three and a half years pass before making another trip. Time flies, I tell ya.  In the past years I feel like as a family we have grown and changed in loads of fun and fabulous ways, as I am sure all our friends back in Utah have, but it was so fun to go back and have it all seem the same as when we left.  Nearly all our neighbors still live there and it was like one big reunion party.  We hung out in the street like old times while the pack of kids roamed and the adults chatted.

We had a picnic lunch in the park behind the neighborhood, the kids picking up practically where they had left off four years ago!

We had dinner with various neighbors (the lovely Aki & Family and Nicole & Family) kind enough to feed us and entertain us.  And we took the kids to Farmington Pond to swim.

Funny thing--I lived in Farmington for 8 years and never took my kids to swim in Farmington Pond.  I think I visited it once.  I was schooled in what we had been missing.  Though Nicole took a more hands on approach, I just sat back and snapped loads of pictures.  It was such fun, we think we might make it an annual event--the whole trip, not just the swimming! But I am sure the swimming will be on the list of things to do while there, if the fun they had is any indication.  I leave with you the evidence of said fun. . .

Now THAT is what summer is all about!

(I even got one picture of me, snuck in by Nicole while my camera was not strapped to my neck--but alas, it is only my backside!)