Archie was held by my dad for the first time:

I got to see my mom’s lush lilacs in full bloom:

Can you smell them?

The kids blew bubbles, thanks to my mom’s purchase of a gallon jug of soap and 24 colorful wands and pipes:

We enjoyed glorious weather. Archie wore the hat his four big brothers have worn, too. It’s not a hat, it’s a legacy:

More hats, more smiles:

The evenings found the kids outside, digging in the dirt with grandma’s gardening spades. Harm to real plants was minimal:

The drive home featured a visit to a Wendy’s drive-thru in Silverthorne, where a grouping of parking lot pine trees prevented a foodless escape. It also featured a white-knuckled drive thorough thirty mountainous miles of chunky fog.

Even the perilous drive couldn’t slough away the restorative power of family, lilacs, bubbles, dirt, and sunhats.

The kids and I are in Grand Junction for their second spring break.

On the way, Aidan kept a record sheet of every brown, blue, and green sign we passed.

Tally marks noted the number of freshly-thawed waterfalls.

An inventory of out-of-state cars was built. The Carolinas, Minnesota, and Washington were represented well.

Quotes from the other passengers were noted for posterity.

Tunnels were heralded, as they should be. Respect the tunnel. It’s the only thing keeping 100 million tons of rock from crushing you into a leaflet.

6 tunnels became 5, then 4-3-2-1-None.

The 250 mile trip included me driving away from the McDonald’s in Rifle, Colorado without getting our food. I paid. I just didn’t bother to pull up to the second window and wait for the avalanche of Happy Meals.

The mistake was discovered quickly. I parked and went inside, told them breathlessly I was the one with all those Happy Meals but I wasn’t at the window. Much confusion. Much embarrassment. Much dork.