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Last weekend was our annual trek out to the Blue Lake pumpkin patch. Turned out everyone I know in Humboldt County had a similar plan, and I could hardly take two steps without running into someone else I knew. I guess once you have lived here for 17 years these things begin to happen.

This year the Bakers joined our group, and I honestly and truly tried taking photos. Really, I did. However, it became increasingly difficult considering that our Team Pumpkin ran non-stop in opposite directions the entire time and it was all I could do to actually get Stella and Alex to sit still in the same spot for a couple of photos with actual pumpkins. Porter hooked up with one of his pre-school friends and the two of them ran and ran to nowhere in particular. At one point we all looked up to realize that Porter had taken it upon himself to load up on the tractor that was headed back for the barn – while the rest of us roamed the far corners of the pumpkin patch. Let’s just say that I could – hypothetically – hold a gold medal should there ever be an Olympic sport requiring one to sprint across a dirt field carrying a large camera and two jackets without tripping over a single pumpkin or vine. Just sayin’.

Due to the fact that all of California was due to be clobbered with a massive storm, we decided to go ahead use the rest of the afternoon to get the apples off the trees before they all ended up on the ground as deer food. Thankfully when you put two doorknob-touching men on the task of picking apples you are guaranteed to end up with not a single apple left on a single tree within the entire property line. Anthony and Steve took their charge very seriously, and we now have 6 plentiful baskets of apples that we are going to cook, eat, pawn off on friends & family and use for obnoxious craft projects. Unfortunately, Steve says I can’t throw them at our snotty neighbors. Boo.

(click photo to see the entire set)

Okay, so we recently completed our annual pilgrimage to our homeland. I know you know this, and I know you have been waiting. But life returned from vacation, does not equate to life without interruption, and I have spent the better part of the week trying to exhale.

Basically, it was pretty much our typical summer outing. We briefly interrupted regular scheduling by immediately heading out East and leaving our precious cargo behind with the grandparents. Those kooky grandparents – they always insist they love it, but I know, deep down, that is the heat hallucinations talking.

We enjoyed our visit with Andrea and Brian – it was almost like we had never left. Except for the part where their house actually had furniture this time. I’m fairly certain that in the 7 days we were there we doubled our physical selves. I can’t even blame it on water weight because I was so busy experiencing the lovely, sweaty, goodness of the deep south in the summer. We ate infamous hot dogs of rural Hanover County, notable BBQ and sides (um, collards, oh yeah), elegant thai cuisine, greasy local faire and the piéce de resistance: the bar and grill that was prominently featured throughout every season of Dawson’s Creek. There is quite a story surrounding Brian and I’s relationship with Dawson’s Creek – his while he was recovering from cancer, mine while I was stuck on the couch breastfeeding without any cable. I don’t need to tell you how magical of a moment it was for us to each witness the life-sized autographed poster on the wall. It was almost like Pacey and Joey were right there. Sigh.

While gone in NC, the kids effortlessly transitioned between grandparents, living large with all the sights and experiences of summer. The Grandparents Walston kept them busy with swimming, science museum, library and art projects. The Grandparents Anderson kept them busy with rustic cabin living and blow-up backyard water features. There has also been this bizarre ongoing ritual that my kids have established with my mom called “Wedding”, which explains why Porter seems to always be dressed like a low-rent street-walker these days.

And speaking of Porter, this brings me to the part of the vacation that will, undoubtedly be the most triumphantly memorable. Don’t get me wrong – this was a wonderful, and memorable vacation full of friends and family and relaxation – however, when I remember this summer, it will be memorable for one gigantic reason: by the time we returned from North Carolina, Porter was 2/3 of the way potty trained. I KNOW! We were periodically updated on the progress via the various phone calls home, but it wasn’t until we returned that we stood witness to the beautiful glory of Porter running in announcing that he had to go pee, and shooting off to take care of business. Plus, yes there is a PLUS! HE GOES AT NIGHT TOO!!! Wakes up, announces his intentions and heads on in. It is like a Christmas miracle. Except that it is July. So, back to the 2/3rds part. He refuses to wear underwear (will only wear pull-ups) and he REFUSES to poop on the toilet. I have been trying to force the issue by stripping him naked from the waist down the moment we get home. Watcha gonna do now, son? Yeah, that’s what I thought – you’re gonna wait me out until I put you back in a pull-up so you can run into your bedroom and hide in the corner and poop -THAT’S WHAT! So close, yet so far away.

Riding on the high of 2/3rds of the way potty trained, we headed back to our freshly painted home. WOO HOO! No more fluffy bunny yellow and white. Now it is a more appropriate and earth-toned green and brown. Viva lá 1960s!

I gathered up photos from three different cameras and 3 different phones to compile this photo set -which explains the variations in quality and content. Unfortunately, I didn’t end up taking very many photos – except for the ones capturing the Arbogast tattoo outing, and the gist of the set is my mom’s camera. I’ll see what else I can round up and add them as I get them.

(click to see the entire set)