Our good friends recently moved up to the mountains. It's a ridiculously sweet place to live, connected up to hundreds of miles of preserve trails right from their front door. We went up on Friday night and slept in a corrugated-aluminum grannyshack on their property. An impossible-to-describe cascade of noises came down from the attic throughout the night, only a small fraction of which were explainable by the bats living up there. The sound of a deflated cheap soccer ball rolling on linoleum. Sproinging Victorian gadget components dislodged by wrestling poltergeists. Impossible inorganic resonances. It was exciting and trippy and tiring.
In the morning, Daddy and Olivander's Daddy and Kason's Daddy went mountain biking. The final 1,500-foot relentless climb left Daddy, at least, completely wasted. It was a great trail, though. Later, Mommy and Olivander's Mommy and Kason's Mommy went for a trail run. Overall a great and exciting morning.
We all spent the rest of the day at a beach near Santa Cruz, a lot colder than it looks. Here's where the pictures come in:
Little, Maleb, Olivander, and Kason, pretty much a who's-who of Little's favorite boy toys. However, she got married to her friend Canyon this week so hopefully he won't see this picture and get jealous.
It looks painful but that's what everybody was doing and it seemed fun.
The weekend at least compensated for the fact that, for the first time in our married life, we haven't been able to go anywhere fun this summer. Not yet anyhow!