It had been so long since I'd been home—since Christmas, people—and this time, I just needed to be at home and not worry about capturing it. Thanks to Emily and her camera-clicking (she's been using Grandpa's Canon), though, our vacation was documented. I just don't have the photos yet. And heads-up, I don't see this post as having much direction.
First things first, Donut Night was fabulous.
Now for some highlights: We had chuck roast for Sunday dinner, and it was fabulous. We gorged ourselves on peanut-butter-ganache cake (don't worry—I was not in charge of the ganache), and, in fact, I think I'm still full.
On the Fourth, we headed up to the mountains for our traditional cookout breakfast. We made real French toast with real French bread, scrambled eggs, hash browns, and sausage and ate outside with the trees and river and mountains. The not-so-good of this excursion, though, was significant. Our drive home—which should take 40 minutes—was four hours long, because of an overturned semi. Four hours. I probably cried enough tears for each minute I lost to the traffic.
Because of our stolen afternoon, we opted out of fireworks and stayed home eating pizza, leftover cake, and drinking Diet Pepsi while we played more games of Bang!.
I don't have much to say about coming home to Oregon, except that I wasn't ready to. That, and cleaning before a vacation is the best idea ever. Even Josh was excited to come home to a clean and tidy apartment.