Twenty Questions

I'm so not kidding when I tell you that The Rock Star will not stop talking about Lake Tahoe. Right now he's sitting at the table drawing a map for us to follow. You know, when we go there, in three months. Since I booked the campgrounds, he's asked me every day how long we have until we go. Ninety days is just, well, a lot for a four-year-old. Heck, it's a lot for me. And I'm almost thirty twenty-nine again.

I was doing some research on our first campground--while I'm very familiar with the lake, I've never camped there--and found out that they often have some very aggressive bears. And by "very aggressive" I don't mean that they rip unsuspecting campers from their tents at night and maul them to death but rather that they have been known to rip roofs off of cars in their pursuit of food and good smelling sundries. To this note, even toiletries have to be stored in the bear boxes. Thinking that Garrett would find this story humorous or, at the very least, exciting, I told it to Troy in the presence of the little boy. Not my brightest moment. He is now absolutely obsessed with whether or not the bears will rip our roof off or, you know, drag us out of our tent for a late night snack. "Mommy? Why did those naughty bears do that?"

"I don't know. They must have smelled something tasty inside."

"Did the people call the cops?" He asked. I don't think he understood that my laughter was the answer.

"What will we eat? Will we go rafting? Why are we only staying for four days? Can I swim? Can I roast marshmehwoahs? Will I be dirty? Can I fish for crawdads? How long will it take to get there?"

Ninety days and about nine hours, kid.

He found a photo album that has not yet been filled with pictures. He folds up all of his "maps" and drawings of the lake and carries them around in his photo album map book.

So what we've learned here is that we don't tell Garrett anything about going anywhere until we actually get there.