This is what it looks like about two miles from my house. I know, I know. There are many people who are freezing their noses off and would give anything to be in a place like this right now.
I guess the grass is always greener, eh?
Instead, we dream about places like this:
Mountains, fog, cool air, fire places, and no sweating!
Once a year, the week after Christmas, that’s where we go. It’s our Christmas present to ourselves, since there’s nothing we want to buy anyway.
It’s a seven hour drive into the mountains. A thrill goes through us as we start climbing elevation and we roll down the windows and breathe that non-humid air. We bust out our jeans and hoodies (for the only time all year). We drink hot chocolate. We revel in the joy of wearing socks.
The guys (and sometimes the rest of us) spend hours in board game marathons. The kids spend hours playing outside on the boulders. I glue my Kindle to myself. There’s long deep conversations with friends. It’s bliss.
(Between these three guys, they brought 75 games with them. Not kidding.)
On market day, Mark and Alyssa started an annual tradition with the kids. Each kid gets 1000 shillings (about 75 cents) and is given the task of finding the most random item at the market. Since the market is full of cast offs from U.S. thrift stores, it’s always an adventure.
The winner was this baby shirt. If you want to take the time to read it, you’ll understand why it won. Seriously? Who puts “chew the fat” and “forest bath” on a baby shirt?
Lily came home with this particular item. Why exactly it has so many holes is beyond us. So we decided to stick two children in it.
And we danced in the new year.
At midnight, we wished a happy birthday to this new nine-year-old.
Per tradition, Daddy made Grace a treasure hunt for her birthday.
