Oh Father, Where Art Thou?

Oh Father, Where Art Thou?

Neglected a proper Father’s Day post. Rats. I even had Hank talked in to a real photo shoot with the boys on Sunday.


It was cold.

And as we were having a mini-vaca, Hank went on an early morning bike ride in Crested Butte, and I made a hasty purchase of two new and warm sweatshirts so the boys and I could then heat our bones up further with hot chocolate and coffee, respectively.

That older one there kept asking if I could possibly tell him and the little one apart, since they were matchy-matchy and had somehow morphed into identical twins.

It seems the only way I could possibly tell them apart was by the green crocs v. yellow ones.

Thankfully, Hank showed up after his muddy bike ride (check the legs) and he could tell whodunnit from whozit. Happy Father’s Day, baby. Too bad your spawns don’t love you any.

The sweatshirts, most importantly, had thumb holes. This was a continued fascination throughout the day, evening, and the next day. And no, there’s no way to aptly describe the grossness that was…these sweatshirts. After two days of dirt, camping out sludge, rain, mud, hot chocolate, pizza, and scrambled eggs, they could stand up on their own.

Did I mention that it was cold? I couldn’t tell. For me, it was like summer. And oh, by the way, when is that point in life when you can’t wear shorts in 45-degree weather anymore because you can actually feel that it IS cold outside?

(I soooo wanted to lay down and take a nap on that park bench since I was so comfy-cozy, but Hank said I’d probably get a “vagrant ticket” by the CB fuzz. Wah.)

We had to find more coffee after our park play. The Fish and I spent some time reading. A lot of time. I think, in fact, that I read out loud almost three hours, which allowed us to finish the second Harry Potter book. He was stoked.

And he was sleeeeeepy.

After his lengthy nap, we grabbed dinner and then drove up 742 to find our camping spot. Found it right above Taylor Res.

And it poured down sheets of rain.

And we hid in the tent and took lots of silly pictures of our feet with the new lens.

That little one there snuck in a song about my piggies going to market.

You know what? Our phones had no service from Friday to Monday. No games. No texting. No email. No Facebook or Twitter. I thought it would bug me…it did not.

We saw our kids. Do you know what I mean by this? We saw them. Without dividing our attention between computers and phones and the dog and what’s going on outside or working out or being at the grocery store or driving anywhere. They caught fish, they fed goats, they went horseback riding, they found bugs. And Heaven Above Us but did they find dirt. Do not even think to ask me what our car smelled like by the end of the weekend.

(Ok I’ll tell you.)

(Feet and farts. Bleh.)

I hung out with my husband. Without the constant interruptions of technology. We actually talked over coffee, sat together in comfortable quiet, and laughed at our boys together. And I had an amazing experience of shooting a wedding (with Hank as second shooter, btw, which made it even awesomer. Yep. There’s that word again.) that was truly in the top two weddings I’ve ever been to. Low-key, beautiful, and so full of what it’s really supposed to be about: a celebration of two wonderful people committing to each other the very best of themselves and they just happen to invite you along for the ride.

Oh boy. Is our cup.ever.overflowing.

Now go hide your phone for a few days and find your favorite people. It’s worth it. Swear.



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