Now it's back-to-work, back-to-the-grind, shoulder-to-the-wheel style. But let's not talk about that!
4th of July was fun, the most memorable part being the celebration of American Trout Terrorism through something called a "Fish Grab." This means that 3,000,000,298 children surround several man-made plastic ponds filled with trout, and on the word "Go!" they jump in and catch fish after fish after fish with their bare hands, eventually wearing down the terrified trout to an emotional nub resulting in certain death. I think Emerson caught a fish 20 times before he was finally able to hold onto one for longer than 3 seconds, and we ended up asking some people for their tin-foil BBQ garbage (but we asked in a classy way) so that we could wrap the fish with ice from my water bottle and cook them up for lunch when we got home.
This is real, people:
Note to self: after the 4th of July fireworks, don't try to get through airport security. Apparently, my shoes were giving off enormous evidence of explosive ordinance, so I ended up getting molested 19 times during the cavity search.
After the drawn-out and conspicuously suspicious process of being released from security in the tiny Mid-American airport, we arrived at our gate, where it was determined that our seats had become completely discombobulated due to an airport error. This resulted in an airport couple (whose sum age was probably over 150 years) parading us in front of all the other passengers with much circumstance, demanding volunteers to give up their seats so that one parent could be with the kids on the plane.
In closing, Eliana is refusing to get off of the couch because of a worrisome-looking brownie that was found on the floor; she is calling it a "poop-shark." Her assumption is somewhat flawed, but who can argue with this face?
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