A few days ago Dancer sighed deeply, looked at her Daddy and said, "I've lived here for a while now...and I've never seen the mountains up close."
Cue the puppy dog eyes and the sad, resigned head shake.
Have I mentioned that Dancer is a tiny bit dramatic?
Anyway, we planned a trip to the top of the mountains. There are, apparently, countless little towns, parks, etc. in the Rockies designed for outdoor fun. We found a picturesque lake picnic area, figured out how many hours it would take to reach the top, packed snacks and a lunch...and headed out.
Now, Casanova thinks it's funny that I spent most of the trip gripping my door handle and muttering about the visible instability of the rocky mountainsides. He has begun calling me "the voice of doom." I do not see the humor.
In fact, I countered by calling him Bane...as in bane of my existence.
But, we finally left the intimidating rock faces behind and hit the pretty stuff. We ate beside a lake, we hiked. Diva declared, "I AM THE LEADER," and then wouldn't let anyone pass her - even if she had to body block them.
There were too many Giant! mosquitoes, and the park bathrooms had some kind of biodegradable thing going on that smelled awful - but, overall, it was the best day.
I got to be outside in the cool mountain air with the ones I love. And, for the first time since our epic move I got to see the softer side of this new place. It is not all cliffs and boulders butted up against deserts and zero-scaping (worst invention ever, btw).
For the first time, this place didn't feel alien. Foreign, yes. Alien, no.
Wipes brow and sighs in relief.
Can I just get a "Halleluiah!"?