Trail of Crumbs

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“This month has kind of sucked,” I told Rand yesterday.

When he began to dispute this (because to dismiss an entire February thanks to a few unfortunate events is antithetical to his logical and – somewhat paradoxically – upbeat nature), I merely whispered “Seahawks” and he immediately fell silent.

“Man,” he said after a quiet moment. “February has kind of sucked.”

Halloween 2009.

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“Jack, look! A lizard! What should we name him?”

“T-Rex.”

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My husband has a habit of wearing his nicest clothes around his favorite toddlers, and after I found myself scrubbing blueberry out of his favorite dress shirt, I kindly suggested through clenched teeth that he be a little bit more careful. Or that he consider wearing something less expensive and more machine washable.

 

And because life is about inevitability and just desserts, I had repeated this again over dinner one night at the Kloof, when Rand was wearing a beloved button-up and dear Jack was very close to leaving the indelible mark of toddler friendship upon him.

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Not every element of our trip in Bushman’s Kloof was Jack-proof.

Though many were.

When was the last time you looked this content?

 

When Reggie, our field guide, told us about the crystal pools, he explained that the hike wouldn’t be appropriate for a toddler, and the staff made arrangements to have Malcolm, our lodge manager, watch Jack. I wish I had a photo of the expression on Malcolm’s face upon our return. He looked like a man who had seen unspeakable things.

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When you have a wonderful trip, it is incredibly hard to remember one distinct day, because they all sort of run together in a crazy, cake-fueled haze. At the end of it, you are five pounds heavier and you have on a bathing suit bottom instead of underwear because you wore your last clean pair the day before.

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Warning: Today’s post is all about me gushing over my husband. The jaded and cynical may want to skip it entirely, or possibly read it with a barf bucket at hand. Because holy cats, you guys: he’s really effing cute.

 

I can’t get over this shot. I think he looks so handsome:

 

This one, too:

 

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Friends, Seattleites, Pac NW Countrymen, lend me your ears!

… Today kinda sucks, huh?

At least we’ll always have 2014.

 

For some of us, this pain is not new. It’s one we’ve come to know well. We were there when Hasselbeck won the coin toss in the wildcard game in 2003, when he bravely said we were going to score, and instead was intercepted. We pounded on the ground so furiously when we beat the Cowboys in the playoffs in 2007, that our downstairs neighbors complained.

We felt so wronged in the Super Bowl in 2006, we can barely talk about it.

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Our first two days in the Kloof, it rained. This was new. Last time, the weather varied from hot to “OMG MY FACE IS MELTING LIKE THAT NAZI FROM RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARC” hot.

Now it was colder than it had been in London the week before, which isn’t really saying much, because London was weirdly warm. I don’t really know if that has to do with global warming or something to do with the monarchy (I don’t really understand how either work, to be honest). But the Kloof was, on those first two days, downright chilly. We went out anyway.

 

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