Brianhead

We escaped the beating heat this last weekend, and took a little drive up to Brianhead for the day. And we are sure that it is the promised land, for even on the third day of July, it was a balmy 72. We could not even. We puttered around the ski shops for a while, and then took a ski-lift ride up the mountain to throw some rocks off the top, and take in the views. In the few times I've been skiing, the ski-lift was definitely the favorite part. I'd say about three-quarters of your time in the lift is like therapy. Floating in the quiet, absorbing the nature around you, watching your breath puff out into the air, and laughing with the rosy-cheeked person sitting next to you. The other quarter of your time in the lift is spent watching the other skiers whoosh below you, while you wonder what the freak you're doing going to the top of a mountain with two boards strapped to your feet. So a summer ski-lift is sort of my jam. All therapy, no stress!

He's suddenly emerged into a full-fledged lefty, just like his Dad. Tyson is level 10 stoked. Do you even know how many times I've heard, "Babe. Babe, watch him."


I love this picture of Tyson re-braiding my hair in the very second that Everett is running up to present me with a flower he picked. I was having a moment.

Isn't she a beauty? Good enough to eat, thought Isla.

Everett absolutely came to life during the ski-lift ride up and down the mountain. I think this is the year guys. I think this is the year of getting our money's worth at an amusement park. Update to follow. #everettridestherides2015


After we took our ride back down the mountain, we decided that jumping 50 feet onto an inflatable bag sounded like a great idea. Which it was.

Not pictured: the amazing burgers and dogs that were consumed post activities and the quiet, serene, therapeutic, two-hour car ride home that lulled our babies right to sleep. Brianhead, you babe.