Camp & Camping

Our third week in California started with us heading to San Elijo State Beach for some camping with my parents. We left after church on Sunday and headed for the coast. That night one of my dearest friends and her family joined us at the beach for some food and great conversation. I finally got to meet her sweet kids. She's been living on the east coast for many years but the stars aligned and we were in San Diego at the same time. (If, you know, I believed that the stars held our fate. Which I don't.)

On Monday morning we were up bright early for surf camp. Troy flew back in to San Diego and we had a great time hanging out on the beach for several days together.
 

On Monday and Tuesday, Garrett surfed on a long board. On Wednesday and Thursday he switched to a shorter, easier to turn, harder to surf on Sushi. He wanted to go back to the long board on Friday because it's easier and he wanted to get up a lot on his last day.

This guy has salt water running through his veins.

Like his mama, he craves sun, salt and sand.

This day camp is pricey but it's phenomenal. I cannot say enough good things about it. My kids can't really get into the surf scene too much because we don't exactly live near a coast. But if they could, I'd be a little worried. Surf culture can be--interesting. This camp gives the kids a taste of what it's like to be surfers but gives them positive, Christian, surfer role models. Each day they actually only spend between 45 minutes and an hour in the water. The rest of the time they hear Christian messages, play games, and eat lunch.

While they're in the water, they sometimes receive personal, one on one, instruction.

They learn a few things about surfing and they catch waves. Waves die. They fall. They run into other kids. But they surf.

And they hang out with Bryan Jennings. Garrett's smile says it all. We love Walking on Water surf camp!

While Garrett surfed, Matthew enjoyed playing in the sand...

Running in the water...

Doing a little beach gymnastics...

And doing a little more beach gymnastics...

When we got back to our campground each day, the boys enjoyed more time in the water. Their favorite thing to do is have my dad push them into the waves while they sit in a giant inner tube. They also loved boogie boarding and, of course, more surfing.

This guy can't wait until he's old enough for surf camp. Which is next year. My bank account is concerned.

But he's ready. 

One of the days, Bryan insisted that I have a brief surf lesson with him. I was terrified of doing this because I was not wearing a super great bathing suit for surfing and I had visions of standing up only to realize that I was no longer sporting a top. I did not particularly want to flash an entire camp's worth of kids nor did I want professional surfer and movie producer Bryan Jennings seeing my *ahem* girly parts. Troy did not want this either. Thankfully, I remembered that I had a wet suit in the car!

So then I surfed. On tiny waves reminiscent of the minuscule ones I surfed on two years ago in Hawaii. But...I DID stand up and I did NOT flash any important parts to any unsuspecting kids or professional surfers.

I do not understand how anyone gets good at this sport. It's exhausting and horribly difficult and makes me feel like the world's absolute biggest doofus.

Then I posed with Bryan and another lady he gave a lesson to. Other lady managed not to flash anyone, although I have no idea how. If I tried to wear that, I promise my top would fall off if I walked across a parking lot. She also works in the film industry and was super nice and encouraging when I managed to stand up on a surf board. ON THE WATER WHILE THE WATER WAS MOVING UNDER ME.

Troy considered a new hair do while we were there.

I, for one, am glad he changed his mind.

We had a birthday party for Garrett with my extended family while we were camping. It was super great to see everyone. We also got to spend a couple of hours with Troy's sister and our nieces and nephew at the beach one afternoon. We missed out on seeing one of our nieces because she had to work. :-(

We spent Thursday night with my brother and sister in law. Garrett had one final day of surf camp. When camp was over, we drove from the coast in San Diego to Mesquite, NV. The traffic was absolutely horrible and I have taken a solemn oath never to drive through Vegas on a Friday evening ever again. It took us nine hours to get from Encinitas to Mesquite which should be little more than six hours. The boys, ever the amazing travelers, did great but it was ridiculous.

We made it home on Saturday--and three perfect weeks in California came to an end.

Week Two

We drove from Tahoe to San Diego and stopped at one of the fish hatcheries. When I was a kid, it was a working hatchery but now it is a museum. They do still have a pond outside with many fish and beautiful grounds. We ate our lunch, fed the fish and explored the museum. The boys LOVED it.

We continued on to Whittier where we stayed at the home of some good friends. They were out of town but are some of the most hospitable people on the planet and let us stay anyway. I had dinner with a good friend while the boys played in our friends' pool.

The next day was Garrett's birthday. We went to church at one of the churches that Troy used to work at. Then Garrett opened presents.

 

For his birthday, we took Garrett to the Pirate Adventure in Buena Park. It's a great time of eating delicious food and watching an elaborate pirate play. The boys had an absolute blast.

We spent that night with my grandparents in San Diego. Troy flew from San Diego back to Salt Lake early on Monday morning. We hung out with my grandparents all morning and into the early afternoon. We met my mom, aunt and cousin at my other grandpa's place for dinner.

During the week that Troy was back in Salt Lake, we had fun in San Diego. We visited with friends, went fishing, went to the movies, and had a blast at Sea World. My mom and I spent a day shopping. We watched episodes of Duck Dynasty and we visited the church I attended for 15 years.

We continued to work on our tans so that we didn't blind the good people on the beach during our last week of vacation--camping at the beach and Garrett's surf camp!

I Need You at the Dimming of the Day

There's an old song, originally performed by Richard and Linda Thompson. It was released in 1975 and was written after the couple had adopted the Sufi faith and moved to a commune in London. So, um, that's not my story. In case, you know, any of you aren't following this blog very closely. Several years ago, Allison Krauss covered it and said that it was about a woman losing love and forgetting her pride and just admitting that she's broken. That's also not really my story. But I first heard this song in its original form on the soundtrack for The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. And I loved it in a way that resonated with some deep recess of my soul. As in, my eyes started leaking for no good reason. The lyrics. The melody. The musical genius.

This old house is falling down around my ears
I'm drowning in a river of my tears
When all my will is gone you hold me sway
I need you at the dimming of the day

You pull me like the moon pulls on the tide
You know just where I keep my better side

What days have come to keep us far apart
A broken promise or a broken heart
Now all the bonnie birds have wheeled away
I need you at the dimming of the day

Come the night you're only what I want
Come the night you could be my confidant

I see you on the street in company
Why don't you come and ease your mind with me
I'm living for the night we steal away
I need you at the dimming of the day
I need you at the dimming of the day

This is what love is. Maybe not all the other lyrics. Maybe not the parts about seeing him on the street in company. But the single line, repeated, again and again, I need you at the dimming of the day. This is love. When everything settles down. When the kids are asleep. When the world falls silent. Where do you want to be? There are moments when this old house is falling down around my ears. There are moments when I'm drowning in a river of my tears. And there are certainly moments when all my will is gone and he holds me sway. I need him at the dimming of the day.

This life is not perfect.

It's not how I expected it would be.

It has taken me up a winding path that is far from what I saw at the trail head.

But to share this life with a man who gets me, makes me laugh, cares for me, holds me, humors me, knows me, chooses me, and loves me, well, sometimes it's almost too much. The Lord has been exceedingly good to me. I know I take his presence and his goodness for granted. Too many days go by without me telling him just what he means to me. I forget to tell him how much I need him.

Troy,
You're only what I want. Your arms are where I want to be. It feels like yesterday and it feels like a hundred years have passed since we said our vows. Thank you for honoring them. I cannot tell you what it means to me that you are a man of your word. A man on honesty. A man on integrity. In this journey, there have been moments of purest joy and moments of deepest sadness. Through it all, you are my rock, my adviser, my best friend. Through it all, you hold me sway. I need you at the dimming of the day.

Happy 11th anniversary.

P.S. You know if you ever tried to leave me I'd punch you hard in the face, right? Hard. Just sayin'.

P.P.S. You know that the above post was way too sappy for me not to add something about punching you in the face right?

P.P.P.S. Thank you for not being a drippy romantic. It would make me throw up a little bit in my mouth. (Maybe even a lot bit.)

P.P.P.P.S. Now that I mentioned throwing up, can I use the "vomit" label? I think I will. Label: Troy. Label: vomit. Happy Anniversary!

P.P.P.P.P.S. I forgive you for losing track and telling people that this is our 12th anniversary. It totally feels like that sometimes. Good thing I still need you at the dimming of the day. Even after these long twelve, er, eleven years.

Tahoe

While we were at the lake, we stayed near Carnelian Bay in this humble abode. 

It worked out great for our family. It was way up at the top of a hill and the neighborhood was so quiet. Our boys were pretty much the only thing making noise around there. That is, until my mom and dad went on a walk and found a mama bear and her two cubs. My mom came running back to get the rest of us and we all paraded down the street to try to get a decent picture. This is all we got with our camera.

We spent most of our days at various beaches. Our good friends came up from Auburn and captured this shot of the eight of us. Clearly, the boys missed the memo about wearing sunglasses.

We went to Sand Harbor, my favorite beach. 

We all jumped off a rock. Garrett...

Matthew...

Troy...

And I did it too but the picture is on my mom's camera. I jumped once. "I didn't get it," my mom called from shore. I jumped again. "Tell me you got it that time," I yelled. She shook her head no. Third time was the charm so, in theory, a picture of me jumping off the rock exists.

We caught crawdads. My brother and I used to do this for hours at a time when we were kids. I don't know what's so appealing about it but my kids LOVE doing it now and, well, as you can see, apparently so do my brother and I. Still.

The Truckee River was REALLY low so we didn't spend money to raft. On one of the days I floated down a short portion of the river with the boys. We had one tube and one floaty raft thingy. Garrett was in the tube and Matthew and I turned the float sideways and flopped onto it. We each grabbed on to one handle on Garrett's tube and away we went. It was all fun and games until the float sprung a rather large leak and we went over some rapids. The rapids were very tiny and not at all a big deal except that I was trying to keep the boys from crashing into rocks. I took quite a few boulders to the shins. The boys laughed and laughed as we bounced over rocks and I yelled, "OH! OW! UH! THERE'S ANOTHER ONE!" Then we stopped in the middle of the rapids and I pinned Garrett up against a boulder with my thigh, held onto Matthew with one arm, and blew the float back up. It held enough air to get us down to where everyone else was hanging out. When we were done, we played in the river for a little while until a thunder storm drove us away.

My dad took the boys fishing.

Garrett caught one tiny fish and one minuscule fish. This one was the tiny fish. The mini fish was even smaller than this guy. Obviously, we returned them to their natural habitat since they would have fed approximately no one.

Matthew didn't have any luck. But he had fun hanging out with his grandpa.

We ate at our favorite spots. My mom, Heather and I ate at Hacienda del Lago on the night that the boys were backpacking. Together, we all had dinner at Bridgetender and breakfast at Fire Sign Cafe.

It doesn't matter how long we have or how often we go, our time at the lake always comes to an end much too quickly. This time, though, we didn't have to come home after our trip. When our time in Tahoe ended, the boys and I still had two weeks left. We headed down to southern California...

Backpacking

The boys and I were in California for three weeks. It was warm. I'm tan. There was edible Mexican food. So, you know, pretty much your everyday California vacation. 

One of the things that happened while we in Tahoe during the first week of the trip was the boys' first backpacking experience. My mom, sister-in-law, and I spent a day together while the menfolk traipsed into the wilderness.

The girls went shopping, had some dinner, watched some television and talked late into the night.

The boys went hiking, had some dehydrated food, went to bed early and watched some gorgeous scenery.

Matthew whined and complained at the start and then got a competitive boost of energy and raced to the destination. He was dwarfed by his pack and looked like Spongebob from the back. 

They swam and played and enjoyed their time in the woods.

They were only gone for one night--a good introduction to the joy of backpacking--but they were the filthiest and smelliest I'd ever seen (smelled) them when they got back.

They had a blast and I love that they were totally unplugged (not that my kids really spend that much time plugged in, anyway) and engaged in nature and more people should be willing to take their kids into the wilderness to explore.

More dads and uncles and grandpas, that is. Because the womenfolk enjoy their shopping time, Starbucks, and happy hour tacos.

Eight

My Eight-Year-Old,

Some things, like this letter, are better late than never. Like you. We waited and waited for the opportunity to be parents and, let me tell you, I'd have waited so much longer for the chance to be your mom. But, let me tell you something else. This halfway to sixteen business is ridiculous. I can't even try to process how it's been EIGHT YEARS since I held your tiny body in my arms for the very first time. But then, there you are, growing and changing and learning how to spell words like squirm and threat and square. There you are swimming and surfing and wrestling and running your way to manhood, one moment at a time.

Your love for running is such a perfect reflection of your personality. Steady. Dependable. Consistent. Focused. You just start running and you don't stop until someone tells you to. But you're also confident, outgoing and built tough. Your ego strength is through the roof and you've never met a stranger. Instead, I had to teach you not to take candy from a friend waiting to be made or climb into a car with a new acquaintance. I love that about you. Not the part where I worry that you'll be willingly kidnapped, but the part where each and every person is a friend waiting to be made.

The older you get, the more I can't believe that God chose me for you. You are, hands down, infinitely more fantastic than I am. You're so much more sure of yourself, so much more passionate about life, so much...better. I truly have to prayerfully keep my pride in check because I think you're one of the absolute best kids--your ridiculous eight-year-old fake laugh aside--and I want to shout your many accomplishments from the rooftop.

"QUALIFIED FOR THE ALL COUNTY MEET IN THE MILE BY PLACING 3RD AT THE REGIONAL MEET!"

"CHASED THAT RACE, A HALF HOUR LATER, WITH A 5TH PLACE FINISH IN THE 800--ALSO QUALIFYING FOR THE ALL COUNTY MEET!"

"KNOWS A WHOLE HECKUVALOT ABOUT THE BIBLE. NOT JUST FOR AN EIGHT-YEAR-OLD."

"WAS IN THE HIGHEST SPELLING GROUP IN 1ST GRADE. AND IS READING WAY ABOVE GRADE LEVEL!"

"RAN MORE THAN ANY OTHER 1ST GRADER AT THE FUN RUN FUNDRAISER!"

"CRUSHED IT IN WRESTLING THIS PAST WINTER BY GOING UNDEFEATED."

"HAS A HUGE HEART FOR JESUS!"

I also want to brag about how tenderhearted you are and how much you love and care about your family. You want to take care of us when we're sick or hurting and your spirit is so gentle and sweet. You love movies with epic battles but you also love musicals and you're incredibly excited that the two of us get to go see Wicked together in a couple weeks. Teachers, doctors, and coaches always comment on what a well behaved, incredible kid you are. Well...everyone except that nurse you battered with your neck brace...

You were tired and scared and hurting and wanted no part of wearing a neck brace and I can honestly say that I can't blame you but, still, we shouldn't hurl our neck braces at unsuspecting nurses. I still can't believe that you were just walking around with a skull fracture for months. Next time you're flying down the sledding hill and see yourself approaching a huge metal grate, BAIL! For the love of your own brain, Son, BAIL! 

You make me want to be a better person. You, with your honesty and your friendliness and your gumption. You're exactly the person I want to become. Except, I don't want to tell knock-knock jokes that don't make any sense. 

"Knock knock?" you'll ask.

"Who's there?" I'll humor you.

"Hammer."

"Hammer, who?"

"Hammer at the door with some nails! HAHAHAHAHAHA!" And I just...I don't understand. Your humor is lost on me. I'm sorry. I really am. I'm sure it's funny if you're eight. I just haven't been eight in a very long time. And I was also never an eight-year-old boy. So that's why your jokes about burps and toots and bums aren't overly hilarious to me.

But, dude. I love you so much. And I'm not sure I could ever convey with the words given to me through the English language just how proud of you I am. I wouldn't trade you for all the tea in China, all the shofars in Israel, all the salt in the sea, and all the money in all the mints in all the nations.

Happy 8th. I hope it's all you want it to be.

Love,

Mama

Like A Boss

We totally almost died yesterday. And by that I mean that we didn't even come close to actually dying but WE COULD HAVE. If the vehicle that was driving south on the I-15 north had slammed into us, that is. But we didn't die because my husband maneuvered our van LIKE A BOSS. A soccer-mom-van driving boss.

I was reading to the boys and Troy yelled and I looked up and there is was...a GIANT Suburban type vehicle flying at us, IN OUR LANE, driving fast. Troy (aka The Boss), had a split second to decide which direction to swerve, hoping the maniac car would not swerve the same way. Because, no one wants to hit a giant car when both vehicles appear to be going the speed limit (or, maybe, er, a little over the speed limit.) on THE FREEWAY.

Praise God, the other car swerved the other direction and so, when we passed, we were actually two lanes apart. But, for a minute there, we were playing a heart attack inducing game of chicken in the middle of I-15 just south of Provo.

As we passed by, Troy slammed on his horn and I craned my neck to watch the mayhem behind me as the insane driver dodged more PROPERLY TRAVELING VEHICLES. Then I called 911. I'd never called 911 before and found it disheartening that it took approximately 10 rings before my call was answered. WHAT IF I WAS UNDER MY BED HIDING FROM AN ARMED BURGLAR? WHAT IF MY HOUSE WAS BURNING TO THE GROUND? WHAT IF I WAS SEVERELY MAIMED AND MY KID WAS CALLING? I promise my kids would give up before the tenth ring and just wander outside to play while I died slowly (or quickly) of maim.

Anyway.

When she answered she asked, "Is this concerning a wrong way driver on I-15?"

"Yes it is," I replied, a little thrown that the emergency operator was also a psychic.

"We're on our way," she replied. I thanked her and hung up. Not a minute later, cops flew quickly by (in their proper place in the SOUTHBOUND lanes where any rational human being would be if he WANTED TO GO SOUTH).

Nothing was reported on the news so I'm assuming there was no real harm done. We all lived to see another day and I found out that I married a mini van boss. Which, really, who knew?