Hogwarts Express, Castle Rock Style

The tykes' presence at Clear Sky Elementary was demanded, and so we complied, that hot, hot August 6th...we started off with a neighborhood potluck breakfast, and, just like that, off they went - daddy and his oldest gal (sporting the Justice backpack)...
I'm a tradition and special-occasion junkie, so I LOVE the Clap-In they stage to send the kids off into another year of academic rigor and glory - check out this second grader!

His brother, entering fourth!

Their sister, entering sixth!

And, dangit, they just missed Sturgis.

Four days later, the kinder sissie made her debut at Clear Sky - she'll attend two full days a week, plus some random Fridays, and couldn't be happier about her new environment: Barbie backpack, the ability to eat a lunch in the Biston Bistro that she has packed for herself, checking out her own books out of the library. Sometimes, it's just the little things that are the big things.

If You're Lucky Enough to be in the Mountains...You're Lucky Enough

We are faithful converts to the two-week fall, winter and spring breaks we receive in exchange for an obscenely short summer, and rarely travel during peak season. For unknown reasons we made an exception to take the kids on the (relatively) short trip to the Black Hills of South Dakota and, in our attempt to wend our way home to Castle Rock, make a pit stop in Estes Park, Colorado, adjacent to Rocky Mountain National Park. If the signs are correct, and I believe they are, this is where heaven and earth meet.
Our gift shop-to-gift shop tour of middle America took us to the famous rock engravings (are they kidding? You don't take cards at the window?), as well as Rushmore Cavern, an alpine slide, a bomber-and-fighter plane graveyard, as well as a drive through Bear Country, U.S.A., which featured several deer, goats, arctic wolves and yes, bears galore, featuring this punked-out brothah who paid us no never mind as he wandered through the huge wired pen.
Reptile Gardens was another great stop: crocs and alligators, boas, komodo dragons, you name it. Me, I just can't handle the odor of reptiles. I'm petty and I know it. Clap your hands.
The littles in front on a mammoth dig site. THIS IS NOT A REPLICA. Apparently, back in the day, that little corner of pine-covered paradise featured a rather large sinkhole in which several adolescent-aged mammoths went to die, and they're still unearthing them. Right there, behind us. I don't know why it tickles me so much, but, there it is.
Once in Estes Park, we were awed by this great waterfall which goes by the name "Alluvial Fan" on all the maps and signage. Many hours could have been expended here, and, as you can see from Shane's lack of enthusiasm that we had just announced our intention to press on to even greater heights. He wasn't havin' it.

We got just this high, which was wicked cold, offered wicked views above the timber line, and exposed mom to-die-for offerings at the gift shop, which, of course, featured wicked price tags.

Once back at habitation level, we stayed here. Not tricked out or especially luxurious, we LOVED this rental: three bedrooms, a loft, a huge dining room table that could probably seat, oh, I dunno, twelve?, living room, wrap-around deck just across the road from the Big Thompson river, horseback riding, what-have-you. I'm a fan of hotels in a big way, but this was superior: can't put a price tag on a place where your kids can speak at above-normal decibel levels and jump on the ground or the beds without the neighbors freaking out. No neighbors. Just a healthy dose of "When can we buy ourselves a cabin, mom?"
Not a second too soon, babe.

Paddle boating on Lake Estes, which we fit in between hiking, amusements at Fun City, leisurely drives, window shopping, and consuming an almost inhumane amount of ice cream. Special tip: Hayley's has Pralines 'n Cream that'll bring tears to your eyes.

What I forgot to post was the best memory of all: our brand-new (to us!) Acadia conking out on the way home and being towed for major repairs, courtesy of our brand-new (to us!) On-Star service. Seems the Acadia is prone to transmission problems. Yay! Check it on the slideshow.

As we were ridiculously hot, flustered and far away from home, we lost track of the cooler in which were icily wrapped Eve, Ty, and Shane's first fish catches of a lifetime...some poor groundskeeper in Thornton is hating us right about now.

But This One Goes to Eleven

That's a standard line of dialogue in our home...I can't urge you enough to avail yourself of the nearest copy of "This is Spinal Tap" and discover the joy of its usage.

And on with the post.

Eve Westbrook celebrated her 11th birthday with...wait for it...swimming. Standard! For our only summer birthday, it's the perennial go-to party activity, and it never disappoints. What does disappoint, on nearly as consistent a basis, is her birthdate itself - since the move to Colorado, we've discovered that EVERYONE travels in July. And with meets and games stacked throughout our Saturdays, party dates are hard to come by.

We nailed down Friday the 23rd to have a Mad Hatter's Tea Party, complete with pool time and slumber party: should I count my blessings that only two lovely young ladies invaded our home for the night? I daresay that I shall: as far as these occasions go, it was perfect. All personalities meshed, no one was left out, no one's feelings were hurt, blah, blah, blah. Only a few crank calls that we know of. Made from a guest's cell phone. Bonus!
Matt, taking the "Drink Me" challenge. Sparkling apple cider, so don't get your panties in a wad.
Desi and Kaylee, sampling our various tea party pastries: as a kid, I was a regular muncher on such delights as cream puffs, eclairs, tarts and the like, but these girls were just in experimental heaven. Childhood ain't what it used to be. And don't get me started on that.
The ladies decorated their mad hats, went nuts on the sugar, watched Johnny Depp in the newest "Alice" movie (all editions of the twisted tale are beloved in our home, but, well, hello! Johnny Depp!)

The ubiquitous tribute to our 'tween: this kid is heaven-sent in every way. When she's out of the picture, say, for a week with friends at a girly camp filled with pottery painting, amusement park riding, crafting and milkshaking, the shift in family dymanic is tectonic. Eve is my right-hand gal; she knows every domestic trick, can solve every problem, comfort every broken heart, bring anyone to hysterics. A joy, in other words. She's lost none of her muchness.

'Why Does Everybody Stand Up and Sing 'Take Me Out to the Ballgame' When They're Already There?"

Ty's first year of kid-pitch baseball. The most fun he's ever had, playing first base for the Coach Beindorff's Red Sox. I kid you not. If this could be a 365 sport, Ty would be one happy boy.
And it's...outta here! Ty Clark's had the hot bat this season, and he's just crackin' 'em left and right, sometimes center. He specializes in RBIs and is known to score a run or two per game as well.

Baseball has become Ty's first love: he's reached the magical age where he will sit with his dad and watch a full nine innings of baseball on TV and ask question after question, which brings on this whole new level of bonding with the father figure.

Ty's nothing less than giddy on practice and game days, and most conversation is peppered with questions like "Who do you like better, mom, the Diamondbacks or the Padres? Did you know the Padres are only two games ahead of the Rockies in the standings, mom? If you didn't love the Rockies and Tigers, mom, who would you choose? You don't hate the Cardinals, right, mom? You just don't care about them?"

Because of near-constant game-day conflicts with either Shane's baseball or swim schedule, I'm not at as many Sox games as I'd like (dad's assistant coach, which takes the sting out of it), but I sat in on a great one...Ty's little batting slump was broken spectacularly, and he was awarded the coveted game ball for efforts. Oh, that it would never end, boy of summer...