My Jack Johnson Moral of the Story

Where do I even begin?

Hows about backwards.

You know what's uber awesome after four days on a houseboat? Make up. Make up is uber awesome.

Don't get me wrong, I was totally digging the whole bare naked face thing at Lake Powell. Until I got home. And I actually looked in a mirror.

Mascara ROCKS!

If Gad wanted our faces to be bare naked, he wouldn't have invented mirrors.

Or tweezers.

Or mascara.

Mascara ROCKS!

You know what else rocks after four days on a houseboat? A hot bath.

But even a hot bath doesn't rock as hard as picking up your puppy from the babysitter's.

OMGOSH! Have I mentioned that I have the cutest puppy on the face of the earth? When we picked her up from the babysitter's she was so gosh dang, gol darn, flippin, floppin, rootin, tootin adorable. Even when we disappear for a week she lubs our guts to death. How's that for unconditional?

I lub her guts to death too.

In fact I wish my guts could be more like her guts. Her guts don't have abandonment issues. Every single time she sees us she stops, drops and rolls over onto her backside, wriggling around all open-hearted and vulnerable like.

If my owners left me for a week, I'd have my paws folded tightly across my chest upon their return. And I'd have my nose in the air like I just didn't care.

But that's just me.

I have a feeling that my puppy, Lulu is rubbing off on me though because I've been feeling some weird things. And doing some weird things too. Like at Lake Powell, there were all these shells scattered across the shoreline. Some of them were coupled up and complete.

It was the most bee-U-tiful thing I'd ever seen.

But most of them looked kinda lonely. And cracked. And broken.



Why can't shells just tay together?

Can't they all just get along?

As Hamlet would say "It hath made me mad!"

And sad. Super super sad.

Is it weird that I went around putting them all back together?




That's better, don'tcha think?

Me too!

There's a Jack Johnson moral here, simple, yet profound, as all Jack Johnson morals are:

We're better together!

Amen!

And Amen!

Lake Powell Cliff Notes

Lake Powell.  What can I say?  Especially at one o'clock in the a.m. 

I could always say OMGOSH and punctuate it with a bunch of !!!! because technically it's Father's Day and technically I'm lying here in the dark sweating from every pore. Not because I'm hot, but because I've been so busy lounging around all week sinking my summer toes into the summer sand at Lake Powell that I haven't had time to shop for Father's Day food or gifts. Or accessories. Or paraphernalia.  

Luckily my hub doesn't want much.  He actually only asked for one thing--that we all skip church. 

Of course this puts me in a bit of a moral pickle because I'm so subservient to my hub. And also because I live to make his every wish my command. I'm like a jeanie in a bottle that way, (when I'm not busy sinking my summer toes into the summer sand).

I could say all that, but instead I'm just going to say LAKE POWELL and leave it at that.

Nuff said.

PSYCH! 

Did you seriously think I could sum up my first trip to Lake Powell in two words?  That Makes less sense than Wordless Wednesday.  

But in the interest of time, (and Father's Day) allow me to post the Lake Powell cliff note version:

I don't lead an exciting life. But I know people who do, so I mooch. I live vicariously. That's who I am. And what I stand for.

Hence the Lake Powell invite.

My whole famdamily was pumped, even me. I'm all about bare naked feet, plus a bare naked face for four. days. straight. 

Add a speed boat the likes of which peels off your first layer of skin, and if you leave your mouth open, makes your cheeks flap ferociously. 

(My favorite girls camp adverb.)   

Throw in enough food to be gluttonous for a month and I become living proof that good girls really do finish last. 

No, seriously, I'm a good girl. And I really did finish last. 

Ask my hub. 

There were three of us mom ladies on the houseboat and I took the bronze medal in preparing mouth-watering, knee-slapping fresh, organic, authentic meals.  

I also took the bronze medal in the best lake hair, glitter toes and Victoria Secret sweats, and although I was the  least physically endowed, domestically skilled and fashion sensible, I had thee time of my life.  

I may not have had the best smelling lotions or the cutest swimsuit cover ups, but I did get the first cold sore so nani nani boo boo. 

And I was, hands down, the best crash test dummy on the boat. Especially during Mafia when I kept accusing the narrator of being the hit man and everyone kept asking me if I was feeling dizzy or if I needed to lay down. 

Turns out I did need to lay down because, as I discovered, sleeping is contagious. And addicting. It seemed like the more I slept the more I needed to sleep.  

You get me? 

Relaxing can really take a lot out of you.  That's alls I'm saying.

But that's not alls I have to say. I have so much more to say about Lake Powell. SOOOOOO MUCH! 

And I have so much photographic evidence. SOOOOOOOOOO MUCH! 

But it's after one o'clock a.m. and I have so little energy. SOOOOOO LITTLE! 

Let me just say that there were things I did and things I ate and things I read and things I felt that I just have to TELL you about before I pop. 

So I'll be right back after Father's Day.

LY!!!

P.S. For the record, yes, we are skipping Sponge Bob church but we are attending outdoor Sunday School at the magic cabin.  So there!

 

Later Gator

So anyways, I'm back from girlz camp. And I'm on my way to Lake Powell.

Jimmy Stewart was right. It's a wonderful life.

(Ironically, I've always wanted to smack people around who use that word. It's so . . . yesteryear, you know? And yet I subscribe to the theory of if you've got it, flaunt it. So I've got a wonderful life. What are you gonna do? Sue me?)

I'm sorry I didn't write sooner, but I've been waiting for my ex-door neighbor, Martha to comment. SNIFF. It's kinda hard to move on without Martha. You get me? Somehow she's got it in her little head that my readers don't want to hear about her life anymore. Raise your hand if you want to hear about Martha's life!

Me tooooooo!

Okay, so girlz camp with the Sponge Bob ward was A. MAZE. ING. Lubbed every single minute of it. Except for the time I made the camp director's hub use a swear word after I got the ropes caught in the prop while boating.

"Are there any adults on this boat" thoughtful pause "besides dummy" deep sigh "who can keep the ropes out of the prop?" said the camp director's hub.

(btw, my sister was the camp director. You do the math.)

Apparently prop is boat-talk. For propeller. But how was I supposed to know that? I went ahead and crossed my heart and hoped to die and pinky promised I would stick a thousand needles in my eye if I got the ropes caught in the prop.

In my own defense, I honestly didn't see a single prop.

Also in my own defense, and taking Monty Python's advice to always look on the bright side, at least I didn't get the ropes caught in the stage set or the costumes.

Am I right, or am I right?

Speaking of stage set and costumes . . . since our girlz camp was at Snow Canyon in St. George, and our theme was Faith, Not Fear, we took our girlz to the Tuacahn amphitheatre to see Tarzan.

O. M. GOSH. Best play EVAH! You must go see this play if you're within a state or two. YES, it was wonderful, but it was also SPECTACULAR. And TREMENDOUS.

The play opens up with 10 words wafting through the air on a wing and a prayer

"Put your faith in what you most believe in."

These words linger in the air for one magical moment, giving you chicken skin and making you think deep thoughts about what you most believe in . . .

And then Tarzan swings out of the sky and the word biceps comes to mind. You suddenly realize you most believe in biceps.

hee hee hee

Just joshin peeps. I could care less about biceps. Seriously! I'm an ole' lady.

And no, I'm not one of those ole' ladies. I'm touchy feely with everyone. 

See.

But anyways, girls camp truly was da bombdiggity. I didn't even mind the time the fox jumped up on our table or the time the priesthood discovered all the black widows under our picnic tables because it was literally the tail end of the very last night and we were so outta there already.

Ignorance truly is bliss when it comes to black widows.

I took nearly a thousand photos because it was so breathtakingly bee-U-tiful.

And it was nonstop fun. Everyone got crazy and silly and sappy ( . . . which we all know equals downright spiritual.) There was no drama or contention or cat fighting or whining or complaining. Everyone was too busy working together.

That's my sis bossing everyone around. 

hee hee hee (I just made that up. Because I could. And because my sis doesn't have a bossy bone in her body).

Girlz camp in the Sponge Bob ward was just like being in High School Musical.

That's me, btw. 

It was all about being together, together, together everyone! 

OMGOSH, I am so out of time.  I'm just going to have to up-chuck a bunch of highlights unto the page.  (And yes, DeNae, I meant to say unto rather than onto. LY!)

First, you wanna see what I look like all red-faced and sweaty with no make-up?

 Hows about all red-faced and sweaty with no make-up getting a piggy back ride?

Here I am again all red-faced and sweaty with no make-up with one of the cutie patootie beehives. 

Okay, I will now attempt to rush through the remaining highlights: 

Is it bad that I am showing the whole wide world my sister and her hub first thing in the morning? 

Well, I'm off to Lake Powell now. 

Later gator!