(That title is totally unrelated to this post, but I wanted to conduct an informal survey to see how many of you are now singing the lyrics to "I Get Knocked Down"?)
Our countdown clock is ticking.
2 weeks from today the packers will be here boxing up all of our worldly goods.
All of our possessions will be hauled away in a truck.
A stranger will be handling my unmentionables.
Maybe now would be a good time to clean out my underwear drawer of every item dating back to the 90's.
Actually, I think the year 2005 would have qualified as a good time to do that, but better late than never, right?
We're trying to fill our last days here with lots of time with friends and doing some "Idaho" things.
Last weekend we went to Table Rock, which is a geological landmark in Boise.
From the top you can view the whole city down below you.
When Alex saw the cross, she said "Was Jesus that big?"
We made an attempt at a family photograph.
But Derek wasn't having it.
And then Alex wasn't having it.
And then I realized that my legs were whiter than snow, and then I wasn't having it.
Note to self: Expose legs to sun.
Derek still wasn't having it.
And then he went boneless on us, and so we gave up.
We did some hiking.
Alex did some flirting.
And Derek did some freeloading.
This coming weekend we're going camping.
The weather forecast in the nearby mountain areas includes rain and lows in the 30's, so we'll be staying closer to home. But that's okay-- the only aspect of camping that I care about can be summed up in one word:
I'm not a pyromaniac, mind you.
But you may recall that I have a bit of a sweet tooth.
And there is only one way to roast a marshmallow.
I know, because in the past I've tried roasting them on a gas range and well as with a candle. It's just not the same.
I don't even want the chocolate and graham cracker.
Just the pure sugar fluff, slightly burnt on the end of a stick.
I think it might even be worth a night of sleeplessness.
I'll let you know.