Tahoe Tessie

If you know Tahoe, you know the legend of Tahoe Tessie. She's the lake's resident monster. Stories about her began sometime during the early 1800's. Some people believe that any photo evidence of Tessie's existence is just camera angles making the small waves look serpentesque. Some think that sightings of Tessie have really just been large sturgeons. Others believe that there really is a lake monster living in the depths of Tahoe--for 200 years. I don't know, sea turtles live to be pretty darn old so I guess when you're talking about the lifespan of a monster you never can be too sure.

I believed in her when I was a kid and they made her out to be a friendly Puff the Magic Dragon type creature. I've always kind of thought of the East shore with a slight frightened curiosity. In fact, one summer when I was in college, my parents rented a boat and we spent the day tubing and skiing. Every time I jumped into that chilly water or fell off the tube I thought of the 1,600 feet of water between me and the floor of the lake and I felt my hairs stand a little on end. I was still worried about Tessie or, at the very least, large fish coming to get me.

Tessie isn't the big deal that she used to be. It's difficult to find friendly dragon merchandise anymore. I think that the museum dedicated to her has long been closed. But, apparently, old footage has been discovered. See what you think about whether or not there's a lake monster swimming around in Tahoe.

Christian Mafia

So this one time, in college, my friends and I pranked a statue.

Do you need more of an explanation than that?

Sometime in the spring, I changed my major to Theatre. I started hanging out with "theatre people" a little more frequently and, if you know anything about actors, you know that we're trouble. When you put us together you get, well, a lot of trouble. Many of the upper classmen were part of a group they called "The Christian Mafia" and not everyone was allowed in. It was a silly secret society of sorts and I'm sure that I'm probably not supposed to be talking about it. I hope none of them find me and kill me--although I don't recall death ever being explained as a punishment. By the time my sophomore year rolled around, most of the CM had graduated so the club fizzled out. I don't remember a whole lot about it but I remember the first rule.

1. You have to be invited. (Otherwise you don't know about it. Except now you do because I told you).

And I remember rule number two. In order to become a member, you have to pull a few secretive pranks. The other members were permitted to help. I remember "stealing" a flower from the guard shack without the employee noticing me. If you've ever been to Point Loma Nazarene University, you know that 30% of everyone's tuition goes toward the floral arrangements in front of the college. This picture doesn't do it justice but it's the best one I could find. Flowers run up both sides past the sign (at least they used to) and, behind the sign, sits the guard shack. I think it has a more official name than that but students, alumni and, for all I know, faculty as well, refer to it as The Guard Shack. I don't remember how I managed to run out and grab a flower unnoticed because I seem to recall an employee who took his position way too seriously was working that night. In any case, I stole a flower. No real harm done. Between myself and my parents, I'm sure I owned the rights to at least one of them.

But then some senior member of The Christian Mafia (I feel like it needs a dun dun dun sound after it) concocted the idea of apprehending a large table umbrella from one of the various tables around campus and moving it to some other area of campus without being seen. Now, for starters, those things are extremely heavy. It took several of us just to carry it. Second, I was a freshman and, at that time, freshmen at PLNU had a curfew. So, it wasn't two in the morning. It was more like 9:30. Moving around campus with a gigantic umbrella without getting caught was a rather tall order. But, with a little help from my friends we managed to take possession of the umbrella from a table back by the Early Childhood Development playground. Sneaking stealthily around campus with our totally and completely inconspicuous umbrella, we somehow ended up on our bellies in front of Rohr Science. I'd kind of like to blame someone else here but I'm pretty sure that the next part was entirely my idea. It was a move that I knew would either have them throwing away our new friendship or initiating me immediately into The Christian Mafia dun dun dun. I suggested that we prop the umbrella up against the statue of The Calling. Pictured below.

The story doesn't end here so obviously they thought it was a good idea. With spies covering for us in several directions, we wrangled and maneuvered that umbrella across Caf Lane and deposited it between Jesus and Peter. I think I said something about it being a rainy day on the Sea of Galilee. Someone snickered. Then we high tailed it out of there. I was initiated almost instantly.

The next morning I walked to class. As I got closer to the statue I saw major commotion. There was a lot of attention being paid to my prank. People walked by and laughed. Groups congregated and wondered aloud just which Senior ASB member had done this. I gave it a glance, let out a small chuckle, and kept walking. I wanted to take credit for it but I knew I couldn't. Even if I had, no one would have believed me. After all, we weird theatre students kept to ourselves holed up inside Salomon. It was funny though.

The actual definition of sacrilege is "transgression against or irreverence toward the virtue of religion, sacred persons, places or things." I go back and forth. Sometimes I think Jesus might have snickered and said something like, "Peter's an open target as far as I'm concerned and that other guy well, he's just a graven image and he doesn't even look like me." On the other hand, I've gained some perspective in the last nine years and I think Jesus might have looked at me sternly, shook his head disapprovingly and muttered, "My you're an irreverent little one, aren't you?" I can count on two hands the number of times, in seventeen years of schooling, that teachers shook their heads disapprovingly at me and I wish I could take all of them back. That's how much I care about not being in trouble. So you can bet that if Jesus physically shook his head at me I'd be sick. (I know that he shakes his head at me from Heaven. I'm a major work in progress.) So see, I took a gamble on whether or not my friends would think it was funny. I didn't stop to think about whether or not God did.

I don't regret it. I think pranking a statue is better than a lot of decisions I could have been making at the time. I just sometimes wish it hadn't been a statue of Jesus.

But man did it ever look funny.

I'm Just Sitting Here Eating My Crow

Okay. So I'm just sitting here eating my big plate of crow. And boy is it tasty! I'm so glad that I at least have voting options now. Like I said before, I won't vote for a ticket with Romney on it--unless God bashed me over the head with one of his campaign signs. Every political show I could find said that the announcement on Friday would be a resounding Romney. Silly me for believing them.

Now, I'll admit, I don't know a thing about Sarah Palin but you can bet that the self proclaimed feminist that I was in college is all over this action. Granted, I would never vote for someone simply based on their anatomy or their age or their ability to crack a joke. I care about the issues and I will research which candidate lines up better with my own views. When I find that neither does, there is always my husband. And if he picked Idina Menzel as his running mate, well then, all the better.

I'm excited about how historical this election just got. I know it was historical before but now it's really historical. Palin is 44. That makes her old enough to be my mother but only if she made a teenage mistake or grew up during biblical times. She's a former beauty queen and sportscaster. That means she might actually know which football teams play in which city. In high school, playing point guard for her basketball team, she was known as Sarah Barracuda. Think of it. Vice President Sarah Barracuda. In just a couple years she could take over the Oval Office. Because McCain is like 130 right? And with the way the Presidency ages someone, I'm thinking he's only got a year or two in him. Think of it. "Excuse me, Madame Barracuda, Airforce One is ready."

In any case, it just got interesting.

Clearing One Thing Up

Concerning the post earlier, let me explain that McCain has not announced a running mate yet. I have just been hearing a great deal of buzz that it will be Romney.

Finally, tonight, Obama explained what he means by change. I don't know exactly how he plans to cut taxes and pay teachers more and get out of the housing slump and lower fuel costs all at the same time, but at least he outlined his plans. And he made fun of his name. And I'm pretty sure that, with the camera aimed right at her, his littlest daughter yawned. These three things alone are enough to make me stop making fun of him.

For a day or two.

Bring on John McCain and the Republican Convention. I can't wait to get my hands on some more blog fodder.

Politics...Again. I'm Sorry.

I was poised to write a blog about how I'm really up a creek now that McCain has chosen Romney as his running mate but then, the official announcement is yet to be made. I suppose that post will have to wait until tomorrow. But I'll give you a preview. It goes a little something like this. Oh shoot. There are a plethora of reasons I don't want to vote for the "Gosh I'm so tired of divisive exchange and I've got one or two things to say about change. Like the change we must change to the change we hold dear. I really like change have I made myself clear?" candidate. But then, there have always been a hoard of reasons not to vote for McCain. Like, for example, if you're going to be a liberal, don't masquerade as a conservative. And also, please don't keel over before you have a chance to address the nation. Now, add to that the fact I promised from the get go that I wouldn't vote for a ticket that had the name Romney anywhere on it and I'm pretty much up my metaphorical creek with no paddles and a raft that is rapidly losing air. Maybe I won't have to post about this tomorrow. I think I just said most of it. Oh bother. When did this turn into a political blog? I don't like it. I liked it better when I talked about, "Oh gosh, so Garrett's poop was everywhere!" Maybe I need to get back to blood and barf and stories about tantrums.

Apparently I filled out a survey where I said I wanted to continue my education. Really? Because I don't remember that. Sure, it's a pipe dream of mine to get an M.F.A. in Directing or Creative Writing but it's not happening anytime soon. Or probably ever. But in any case that's not what these calls are about. These calls are like, "Are you interested in attending Heart of the Riverbank Launch Pad Community College of the Valley Floor to get your A.A.? We have classes open at 3:30 in the morning." So then I say:

Me: I have a B.A. from a four year University. Thanks though.
Them: Okay. Would anyone else in the home be interested in community college?
Me: Probably not. My husband has a master's in exegetical theology.
Them: Exewhata?
Me: It's Bible stuff.
Them: I see. Any children.
Me: My son is two. He's asleep at 3:30 am.
Them: Then why did you say you were interested in furthering your education.
Me: I didn't. *click*

I mean, I must have. I guess. But I don't remember. I was probably too busy trying to turn this into a political blog to keep track of a tiny little decision like going to community college.

Concerning the Button

Adoption is pricey. Ever since we first started looking into adopting a child, we wondered how we'd finance it. I researched fundraisers, grants, and projects that would help us achieve our desired goal. Three years ago, when we originally embarked on this journey, we sent a letter to friends and family asking for prayer that God would provide in a major monetary way. Many of those individuals responded with donations to our adoption fund. I was thankful, humbled, and amazed. And then I found out I was pregnant. I returned the money to all who would accept it back. I don't want to send another letter out. Most of the people it was sent to are aware that we're adopting and are praying--I hope. And this time our process should be considerably less than the projected $32,000 that our Ukraine adoption would have cost. We've decided to adopt domestically from a ministry in California. It will still be more than we have.

Don't get me wrong, we have enough to clothe, feed and care for the child once s/he's here. It's just that we don't have enough up front to pay the listing and legal fees and the potential birth mother fees. Our homestudy should be completed any day now. We've done all we can do on our side and now we're just waiting for a finalized copy. In October we have a meeting and, at that point, a hefty sum is due. After that, we wait. I've been told that, in the meantime, I should raise funds. Once our homestudy is finalized we can apply for grants but, honestly, our decision to adopt domestically will probably keep us out of the running for most of those. After wracking my brain for ways I could raise money, I've decided to put a donation button on my blog, among other things. If you are the type that is severely (or even moderately) offended by donation buttons, please understand that I do not expect anyone to give to our cause. I also realize that this particular blog does not receive a whole lot of foot traffic and that's okay. What I am hoping to achieve by the button is a dollar here or there. I'm also hoping that, by having it at the top of the page, my six avid readers will remember to pray for our process and for our finances. If you ever feel led to skip your morning latte or donate that dollar you found on the street, please consider our fund. I assure you that any money raised here will go into a bank account set up for our adoption and will be used to pay for adoption related expenses.

As always, we truly covet your prayers. I will continue to keep you updated on our progress.

Party System

I was born into a Republican family. For my first act of rebellion, I decided to vote for Michael Dukakis in my second grade class poll. Why? Because his name sounded so much cooler, of course. But we were called up to vote in alphabetical order and it was a public poll. My last name fell near the end and the student's who had gone before me mirrored their parents political views. The Republican was winning by a land slide. In that moment I chose not to be a leader. I choose not to swim against the current. I put a big broad check next to George Bush. But I desperately wanted Dukakis to win the election. When you're seven years old there isn't much to politics but one name verses another.

Some people turn 18 and get tattoos or have an older friend buy them beer. My parents maintain that my act of rebellion was becoming a member of the Democratic party. But it wasn't rebellion. Despite hating politics, I took my right to vote seriously. Though I was moderate, I felt that my views lined up better with the Democratic party. Of course, I was a pretty idealistic teenager.

I've been Independent ever since I had to register to vote with a different last name. My favorite thing about being Independent is making fun of both political parties. What I hate the most about the party system is that Republicans and Democrats alike will be at each others throats during the Primary screaming about one candidate or another and then the convention comes around and they're all, "Obama!" or "McCain!" It's as though they completely forget that half their party was rooting for other people only a few months back. But it's okay because I get to make fun of both conventions! Take, for example, the fact that this year the Democratic convention is supposed to be the most green convention ever. Um. Ever? To paraphrase a guy I saw last night on Glenn Beck, were there no conventions in the 1800's? Then I flipped over to some channel that was covering the whole boring thing and I heard Caroline Kennedy say, "I've never had someone inspire me the way people tell me my father inspired them. But I do now. Barack Obama!" And, if you didn't see it, let's just say that Caroline did not get her father's speech delivery skills. I have nothing against her at all and, in fact, cannot imagine living through the things she has lived through, but the way she said, "but I do now," sounded like high school level bad acting. I'm sure Obama will get up on that stage this weekend (have you seen the stage? It does not look one bit green.) and talk about how he's the change we need. Maybe, Obama, you could be a little more specific? For once.

Democrats, you need not worry. I promise that the Republicans will do things at their convention that will make me close my eyes, shake my head, and then run to my blog. Just because I was raised with Republicans and now sleep next to one doesn't make them off limits. After all, I've never spent anytime registered with their party. I have participated in two Presidential elections and I've given one vote to the Democrats and one vote to the Republicans. I'm still moderate but, I must admit, I am creeping slowly to the right on a lot of issues. But never fear. Even if I am one day registered as a Republican, I'll still find things to pick on them for. And it's doubtful anyway. I much prefer sitting on the outside, popping some popcorn and watching the blood bath during the primaries. And it's much more fun being able to be extremely right on a particular issue and a little left on another.

And then, it doesn't matter who I make fun of this year because you know who's got my vote:
This guy.* I mean, really, the State of the Union address would be so much better with Garrett running in between his father's legs.

*Video provided by my wonderful Aunt Vicki.

Football

Ah Chargers verses Seahawks. It doesn't get better than that in my house--even if it is preseason.

Letters

Dear Cynthia Potter,
Please stop talking. I know that you know more than I do about diving. But I know that a big splash=bad diving marks. I don't understand why, when the women were diving, you could not stop talking about how you couldn't stress enough the importance of speeding up their dives and how if they didn't go faster they would get a warning and blah blah blah. Then, last night, when Matthew Mitcham, the studly (and, if I wasn't a pastor's wife I might add, hunky) Aussie who eventually won gold, took his sweet time you said, "This is the epitome of poise. Matt Mitcham took his time. He controlled the pace. And as a result he takes control of the entire contest." So, which is it?

Signed,
Annoyed
******************************************************
Dear Oliver,
What part of this do you not understand. I LOVE the birds you are bringing me. I LOVE that you have become such a tremendous hunter. I LOVE finding feathers all over my basement. In fact, I feel that maybe you are spoiling me. I'm afraid that if you continue with such avian pampering I might stop loving the dog on account of the fact that he doesn't bring me such wonderful treats. You wouldn't want that, would you? If you would like to continue bringing me birds, please try not to strip them naked and leave their clothing all over my carpet. I prefer my carcasses feathered.

Signed,
The One Who Feeds You And LOVES The Bird You Brought Me Today
********************************************************
Dear Uterus,
It is not my fault that you are not currently housing a fetus. Yes, I realize that Garrett is big and two and generally his cuddler malfunctions. Yes, I am aware that my good friends Joelle and Michelle have had babies during the last eight days. (Congrats Michelle and Joelle!) Yes, I know that those babies are cute and cuddly and very, very small. But please stop having a conniption fit. If you have a personal problem with the arrangement of things, you need to call a meeting. Invite all the reproductive parts and read them the riot act. You should probably personally escort the ovaries. It seems that they often don't get the memo.

Signed,
The Vessel Who Houses You And Often Times Wants To Rip You Out Because What Good Are You Anyway?

Sleeping Woes

So now, twice in the past week we've had to deal with our toddler deciding that he just doesn't need to sleep in the middle of the night. Last night he woke up sobbing at eleven, one and three. We're confused. This is the angel sleeper we're talking about. This morning our conversation went a little something like this...

Me: Garrett, what happened last night? How come you kept waking up? Did you have a tummy ache?
G: Yeah.
Me: You did? (pause) Did you wake up from bad dreams?
G: Yeah.
Me: You did? (pause) Were you scared of something in your room?
G: Yeah.
Troy: Did llamas attack you in your sleep?
G: Yeah.

So, you see, not only does my child speak in slang, he also tells lies. But. BUT. He's taken to calling me Mommy and it's one of the cutest things ever. He still calls me Mama on occasion but within the last few days he's integrated Mommy into his vocabulary. There is something about that sweet little voice saying those two syllables that really melts my heart. Even if it is just before seven o'clock in the morning when he's been up several times during the night.

Do Your Pits Sizzle On Occasion?

By and large, Olympic sports announcers drive me completely crazy. I'd mute my television but then we'd be sitting in silence listening only to the sound of our own exhaling and I'd miss the grunts of defeat and the shrieks of success emitted from the depths of the athletes. Oddly enough, swimming announcers bother me the least. I find this surprising given the fact that I know, by far, the most about that particular sport. I'm sure that, on occasion, they've said ridiculous things such as, "If he drowns here, he probably won't medal." For the most part, however, they seem to be the less annoying of all announcers.

Take, for example, the announcers during last night's Men's Beach Volleyball final. There was, in fact, a moment when the words, "He really Sizzled his pits," were uttered. Actually I can't remember if that's exactly what it was or not because Troy and I have taken to using the phrase completely out of context ever since. Not that it made any sense in the original context. I know that pits and sizzle were definitely part of the sentence though. Now maybe this is some well known volleyball term and it should have made total sense to me. But, alas, I am not the supreme volleyball player in these parts or any other parts for that matter. Typically if I see a volleyball coming my way I start picking at my nails and assure my teammates that even though it is headed right for me it is their responsibility to get it. Immediately. Preferably before it hits me. All I know is that I stopped breathing momentarily and I looked at my husband who was looking at me.

Me: Did he just say something about sizzling pits?
T: That's what I heard.
Me: What does that even mean?
T: I have no idea.
Me: But I heard it right?
T: I'm pretty sure.
Me: I hate announcers.

But my favorite thing--as in not favorite at all because it is so annoying--is when they make comments that any individual who has ever watched even a moment of sports would know.

Track: "If he can get a good start and run the best race of his life and not hit any hurdles and cross the finish line first, and he doesn't disqualify, he'll be your gold medalist.*" -Really? You don't say.

Diving: Whispering very quietly as though we are hanging on every word she utters, "If she can stick this dive she'll win.*" -Hmmm, now see, since she was leading to begin with you'd think I would have been able to figure that out myself. It's not the college degree. It's not even the high school diploma, really. It's based on knowledge I acquired sometime around, oh I don't know, kindergarten.

Gymnastics: "Now all she has to do is stick the dismount.*" -I'm no gymnast but the fact that you've been saying all along that it's been a perfect performance would have led me to the same conclusion.

I realize that they need filler phrases and that, without their brilliant insight, there would be a lot of silence but actually, I'd be alright with that.

I have to admit that it has been fun to think of alternate ways to apply the Sizzling Pits phrase. I think it should be the new He/She makes me weak in the knees. Because let's face it. No one really says that anymore, do they? So instead, I vote to replace it with Man, he/she sure makes my pits sizzle.

Oh crud. I just looked up the term and, apparently, Sizzle the pits is a low, hard spike that travels under the blocker's arms. I'd feel like an idiot but I don't want to waste any energy on that. Rather, I suppose the announcer should have explained that to me. I mean, he was busy coming up with a lot of other junk to say to fill up space, why not give me the definition of a good old-fashioned pit sizzle.

*Not actual quotes, just reminiscent of things I feel like I've heard during the past few days. I'd have more, mind you, but I was on vacation for the first week.

Cheeseball

I think if you were to look up the word cheeseball in the dictionary, you just might find this picture.

I'm not entirely sure where that particular word came from. I mean, I'm sure that the phrase, "You're a cheeseball," came well after the invention of the party type food commonly referred to as such. So then, how did it become a phrase we use to describe silliness? I myself have never thought of consumable cheeseballs as being particularly humorous. Tasty, yes. Gut busting hilarious, not so much.

We purchased the CD from Garrett's recent photo shoot and I'm really glad. See, I never would have bought the picture featured above because of the aforementioned cheeseballness. But now, I have it forever and always and if he gets out of line as a teenager I'll threaten to blow it up and plaster it all over the halls of his school. It's probably pictures like this one that will stick in my mind when we take to the dance floor at his wedding reception. If you happen to be there you'll see me become a heaving mess of emotions right there in the middle of everything screaming, "Don't leave me! You're my baby! You're just a little boy!" In case this happens, you have my permission to tackle me straight to the ground and deposit me in the nearest loony bin. I simply request that you stop by every now and again to loosen my arm restraints a wee bit.

Summer

Today I woke up feeling slightly sorry for myself. Well, actually, I woke up feeling extremely groggy. It was very odd and I could hardly pull myself out of it. When the grog finally vacated I was left feeling a little off. I'm sure part of it has to do with Hello There, This Is So Not Tahoe and another part of it was probably Hey, Also, Your Parents And Brother Don't Live Here. In any case, I really wanted to take Garrett and get out of the house because yesterday we had a horribly whiny day. But finances are really tight what with the third quarter of taxes being due next month and adoption costs we can't afford and Stupid California House bleeding us dry so spending money wasn't really an option.

I'd heard about a place out in Herriman called the Splash Pad so I looked it up on the Internet and then we actually found it. Of course first I drove down the road and had to turn around and go back into the house because Garrett needed his eyes. That's what he calls the sunglasses that he is currently obsessed with. Daddy won't leave home without his so, logically, neither will Garrett.

The Splash Pad is built next to a regular park with normal toys for little people. The Splash Pad itself, however, is not normal. At least not to me. At least not for free. It has all kinds of holes in the ground that shoot water up and out. Additionally there are "shower" type hoses, a palm tree that has water falling over its leaves, buckets that spill water, etc. I seriously made Garrett's day and, being that it is only about ten minutes from my house, I intend to take him again before The Stealth White Wonder hits sometime in the fall.

Here is Garrett running around like a crazed maniac. I wanted to get the majority of the Pad in the picture so that's why he is so dern small.

Right before I took the following picture, he was facing me and cracking up. Of course, he decided that when I actually snapped the shot, he ought to show me his Lightning McQueen clad booty.
So since I couldn't get him to stand still for anything, I decided to shoot some video footage.


When we came home he played in his pool, had lunch, and watched a little bit of "Memo" before getting put down for a nap. Seriously, he'd watch Finding Nemo ALL THE LIVE LONG DAY if I would let him. But alas, I think he needs most of his brain cells so I limit that action. He's still awake because I can hear his squeaky Mater car in his crib. I sat down to half a banana, some cheese and crackers and an entire tomato from my garden because they are seriously delicious. With the morning at Splash Pad and my tomato, I decided that it just doesn't get better than summer.

Tahoe Wednesday-Sunday

Well since you were updated through Tuesday I'll just start with Wednesday...

On Wednesday my parents went to pick up my brother and his girlfriend, Heather, from the airport in Reno. We decided to drive down to Emerald Bay which, aside from the east shore which I didn't get to on this trip, is the prettiest part of the lake--in my opinion. And I've been there on 12 (I think) different occasions so I think my opinion should matter. I lost my first tooth there which has to count for something. This was the first year that you had to pay to park in the main lot at Emerald Bay so we drove down a little ways and parked for free. We walked to the falls and Garrett was obsessed with the tunnel that goes under the road. We had to wade into it and talk in loud voices so that we could hear our echo. I took pictures of the bay even though I have many from previous trips. There is just something about Fannette Island that I love. It's hard to see it in the picture but I've always wanted to have tea in the Tea House located at the top. No one has tea there anymore, mind you, it is now just the shell of what used to be Lora Knight's tea house.

Here is one of the little pools made by the falls and the aforementioned tunnel. Garrett did not want to leave and would have played here all day if we'd have let him.

Later in the day we went to the beach near the cabin we stay in. I think this is where this picture was taken. The only reason I am posting it is because I am making the weirdest face. I don't think I knew Troy was taking my picture but my face is still all like, "Dude, what the heck are you taking a picture of me for?" Also, if arches were a weapon, my feet would so be totally deadly.

On Thursday we had a delicious breakfast at the Fire Sign Cafe. Then we rafted the Truckee from Fanny Bridge to River Ranch. If you know anything about this stretch of river, you know that rafting is a bit of an overstatement. Floated the Truckee would be a more accurate choice of words. We all had a great time. Especially this kid:

The questionable hat that he's wearing is circa 1970 something. My dad found it down at the bottom of the river well before I was even born. We've affectionately referred to it as the Truckee River hat ever since. There are pictures of me wearing it when I was a baby, although not on the Truckee because the first time I ever visited the most wonderful place on earth I was five years old. Our dog also had a good time on the river. He swam a little too much though and had to take a nap in our raft.

On Friday Troy took our car to the Car Doctor in Truckee and right after he got there they lost power for two hours. Neat. He was stuck there for half the day and they were unable to fix it. Of course, it took 131 dollars to figure out that they couldn't fix it. We have an appointment with the dealer on Friday. Please join with me in praying that the compressor is one of the parts still under warranty. While Troy sat in Truckee (this is a common occurrence for us--last time we realized that Troy's license had expired and we had to sit at the DMV there for hours and the employee was totally flirting with this girl and let her go in front of us and it was ridiculous and I do not have fond memories of the Truckee DMV) we all went back down to Emerald Bay. We hiked down to the beach and toured Vikingsholm Castle. I hadn't been there in probably 16 years and the bathroom situation was much improved. The bathroom experience of my youth is etched into my mind as the worst smelling restroom ever. EVER. I almost puked it smelled so bad and was so yucky ucky nasty filthy.

Jon and I debated swimming to Fannette Island even though it's, um, how do you say, illegal. But not, like, put you in jail illegal just you'll receive a stern talking to from the patrol boat illegal. I got about a quarter of the way there but he had chickened out (yes Jon, chicken. As in bagock or however you spell the sound a chicken makes) and turned around and I decided that I didn't really want to get in trouble all by myself. Plus, rule number 496 in The Pastor's Wife Handbook says something about obeying all posted signs. It was probably a good thing we didn't swim out there because, on the hike back up, I got a clear view of the island and the beach we'd been on and let's just say it looked a great deal closer from the beach. I'm a strong swimmer but I might have decided to live the rest of my life on that island instead of ever swimming back.

On Saturday morning Troy and I rented a wave runner for an hour for our anniversary. Even though we had to stay relatively close to the beach we rented from, we had a really good time. For those of you who think a toddler has no business being on a waverunner, don't worry. My parents kept Garrett for us. Later in the afternoon we went to the beach with my mom's cousin and her family (they live in the Reno area). Then we ate ourselves silly and had a great time catching up.

Early Sunday morning (1:30 am) my son decided he didn't need to sleep anymore and he woke up shouting my name. Well, actually, shouting Mama. It would have been really weird if he'd been screaming "Lori" for all the cabin to hear. Eventually we put him in bed with us because tiny cabin=rule breaking when child decides not to sleep in his own bed. After three hours of being wide awake he finally fell asleep. It was weird. He never does that. I am glad. My brother and Heather went parasailing on Sunday morning and they had a great time. I've wanted to go parasailing for most of my life but then I married an acrophob. My brother invited me to go with him and Heather but I figured that, for my anniversary, I should probably rent the wave runner with my husband instead of parasail with my brother. I'm certain that Troy agrees. We loaded up our car and then took Garrett rock hopping up Ward Creek while we waited for my parents, brother and Heather to get back. A few hours later I entered my state of mourning.

I've decided it's really not a good idea for me to leave Tahoe. I have an extremely hard time walking out of the cabin and getting in my car. I often wonder how long it would actually take for me to get sick of it and I think the answer is FOREVER. We drove into town and, after waiting for a long long time, were seated at The Bridgetender. I finally delighted in my scrumptious burger and, before I knew it, my trip was over. I almost cried as we drove out of Tahoe City.

Troy drove the first hour. I drove the next 3.5 and he finished with the final four. When it was his turn to drive I popped my contacts out and pulled Troy's blanket up around me. Nestling down into my seat I took a deep breath and the smell caught me off guard. It was the cabin. I'd know that smell anywhere and, to my knowledge, it's never stuck on a blanket like that before. I looked at him and smiled, "Your blanket smells like the cabin!" He smiled back and whispered, "Good."

It's wonderful to be married to someone who likes Tahoe. I know he probably doesn't like it as much as I do but then, probably few people really do. I'd go back this very moment if I could. Even though it would mean driving on the least scenic and most boring stretch of road. I'd still do it.

Here are a few more pictures:

Oh man are they so cute or what?

My four favorite boys in the same place! According to my son this photo features (clockwise from left) Dar, Dada, Raw-raw (sometimes now it is coming out as Raw-pa) and Baby. How Dar is toddler speak for Jon is beyond me. Since he calls himself Baby and his middle name is John maybe he will start referring to himself as Baby Dar. I think it sounds like something out of Star Wars but then, I've never been able to sit through Star Wars so who am I to know?

Below is a picture of my mom and Heather and Garrett. I feel like my mom is making a weird face but it's small on my screen so I can't tell. Mom, if you want me to change it just let me know. You know what, no. I'm changing it right now. You kind of look like a ghostly alien. I'll replace it with one where you look like your regular self. Garrett won't be looking at the camera but that's ok. He'll just be eating pretzels, like he did all week.

Home Again

We are home. We actually left last night because the place in Truckee was unable to fix our air conditioning and driving through the desert, in the heat, again, was not an option. I pretty much think it's a sin to leave Tahoe a moment earlier than you have to but driving through the desert, in the heat, again, was not an option. We were tired and Bridgetender took a really long time to get seated so we left late and we didn't want to be in the car until 2:30 am but driving through the desert, in the heat, again, was not an option. I had intended to blog earlier but what with the laundry and the no food in the house there wasn't a good time. I plan to post a few pictures and some stories tomorrow.