Monday, August 28, 2017

SOL no. 52 Preview: Guardian

I'm leaving for a fall trip today, but I wanted to get one last thing out before I did. Enjoy.

The Torch is tired.

Bone tired. And scared.

There isn't wind, but the cold seeps through her thin, mottled cloak and spreads out on her skin like a heavy mist. Her breath puffs in the cold, frosty air. She shivers. Isn't it supposed to be Thundermon? The summer solstice was two weeks ago. Thundermon isn't supposed to be this cold. 

She's out of her depth, she knows that. She's a Torch, except she's not... it's weird. But now she's guarding a contingent with as many Lancers as Riders, a whole host of Arrows, and a few Fleurs... mostly her group, too. Tarantulas, that is. She relies on them to be her Order, and now they are relying on her to guard them.

But she's not a good guard. She knows that. The cold bites her through her yellow blanket and her blue cloak, her eyes strain to stay open, and even when the enemy approaches she isn't sure whether to wake up the others from their precious sleep or not. She wants so badly to stay in their good graces, she isn't sure whether it's better to be too cautious or not cautious enough.

And in addition, she's terrible at swordplay. The short one-hander leans against the wall in front of her. Wrapped grip, pommel, crossguard. A good sword in the hands of a worthless fighter. She can't fight for her life, she knows that. She's a meat shield. A moving target. She's more than willing to sacrifice herself for them, but she knows she's worthless. She's volunteered to sacrifice five-six hours of sleep for them. It was the least she could do.

The Fleur's timepiece reads 12:30 in the morning. The Torch grits her teeth. She has an hour and a half still to go. But her partner, a Lancer, only has half an hour left. Staggered shifts. One of the Rider's strategies, and the least entertainingly nerdy one. The Lancer is as jittery as if he'd been caffeinated. He keeps pacing back and forth, swinging his sword. Stressed?

"God," he mutters. "God. I'm so bored. I'm going to go out and fight them."

"What?!" hisses the Torch. "Don't be dumb. Why?"

The Lancer shrugs. "Something to do. And they won't kill me-- I'll be back soon after losing solidly."

The Torch blusters and hisses at the Lancer, but she can't convince him to change his mind. He swings his hand-and-a-half sword and walks out, feet crunching loudly on the path, towards the enemy camp.

The enemy guard-- a Rider, the Torch can just barely see his distinctive teardrop shield-- looks up suddenly. "Why...?" he says.

The Lancer nods back. "Not an invasion. I was... dunno, bored. Let's spar."

The Rider shrugs. "Sure."

The Torch doesn't see what happens. A few minutes later, the Lancer limps back to her. There's a bit of blood from a graze on his leg but he looks fine. Happy, even. The Torch assumes he sparred with scabbards on.

Not for the first time, and not for the last, she wishes there was a wall.

Half an hour passes. The Lancer leaves to spar with his friend twice more, returning beaten but happy each time. The Torch has time to reflect on the night.

The first half of her shift, she'd been with the only other female Torch here. It was almost as cold, and really tense as she found the pair of Lancer enemies-- siblings-- sneaking around their camp. They couldn't enter through the back or sides, but it still terrified the Torch when she'd seen them walking-- out of range-- back from behind her camp. The Lancer siblings knew how to sneak. They were both good hands at swordplay-- a formidable pair. More importantly, they had infinite patience and apparently didn't get tired. It took them ten minutes to silently move about 50 feet, but they were silent. The Torch had good hearing and the night was completely still, but they'd still managed to get past her.

Silent, those Lancer siblings-- silent and stealthy until they decided to not be.

Fifteen minutes into the Torch's shift, they had emerged out of fighting range and begun singing. It was an interesting move-- keep the defenders awake-- but worked. At that moment, the Torch's arm still stung from her cut on her right forearm. She hadn't thought much of it, but later she discovered there were bloodstains on her shirt. Great. And the Lancer siblings had started singing.

The surprising thing was that they actually weren't bad singers-- the girl had a somewhat throaty speaking voice that the Torch hadn't expected would translate well into singing, but it wasn't actually that bad. And the boy-- well, the Torch had never bothered to imagine the boy singing, but the two of them managed not to kill anyone with the discord.

And then nothingness. Just the cold. And some blood. And the Torch's nerves singing opera.

She wishes there was a wall.

Done reminiscing, she checks the Fleur's watch and turns to the Lancer, who is inspecting bruises on his calf. "You're watch's over. Who's-- Nicolai."

He turns. "What?"

The Torch's pulse is racing. "That's more than just their night guard."

"Really?" The Lancer squints into the darkness.

"Yes," hisses the Torch. Should they wake everyone up? They had had maybe three hours of sleep maximum, and if there was an attack now they might only get one or two more.

The Lancer is silent. The enemy gets closer. It's definitely an attack, or a feigned attack. Eventually the Torch makes up her mind. Glancing at the Lancer, she clears her throat. Her voice is high-pitched with nerves. She shouts the keyword, loudly. Hoping to sound more confident than she feels. She shouts it again, along with "Everyone, wake UP!" There are a couple groggy groans, but the Torch needs more. She glances at the Lancer. "Cover me. I'm going to wake them up."

He frowns at her, but it's too late. Her yellow blanket is forgotten, her blue cloak trailing behind her as she bursts into the castle. "WAKE UP! ATTACK! C'MON, GUYS!" she yells, repeating the keyword. There's more rustling of blankets now, and she hears the Rider ally's voice. "What's--ah, s***."

"Someone get a light!" yelps an Arrow.

The male Torch turns on a flashlight, and the crew grabs their weapons. The Torch hears the Lancer guard yelp as he's taken down, and then it's their turn as the enemy bursts in. The Torch weighs two options. One, she fights and dies. Two, she hides. The Torch chooses option two. Not because she's afraid of fighting, but because if she isn't taken down her comrades won't lose again. And she can hide, no one will be looking for her. And it's dark. The Torch slips around the walls, to the back of the castle, and cowers under the window. If anyone finds her, she's screwed. The fight seems to go on for hours. The Torch sips air, shivering from the cold and from nerves. She tries to be silent. Lancer-sibling silent. Eventually the noise dies down.

"Is that everyone?" It's an Arrow attacker to his teammates.

"I think so. Oh, Rowan, you down?" A Lancer girl, an attacker.

"Yeah," says the Rider. "He got me."

The Torch doesn't see where the Rider is gesturing. She doesn't make a sound. She doesn't move.

"Well, then," says the Arrow attacker, "Let's go."

The Torch still doesn't move for a minute, enough to hear the quiet grumbling of her comrades. "Down two," the male Torch says. "Well, at least they won't attack again."

"Yeah," says the Lancer who had guarded. "I mean, we'd have to attack-- and win-- three times to up them. They can get sleep now."

"On the bright side," says the male Torch, "so can we."

That's when the Torch slips in. "Guys," she says in a hushed voice. "Guys. They didn't get me."

"You hid?" It's the Rider.

"Yeah," says the Torch. She's glad it's dark-- her face is flushing. "I mean-- I'm worthless in a fight, so--"

"No, no," says the Rider. "Good. I mean, weren't you sleeping out there for that reason?"

"Yeah," says the Torch, relieved the Rider isn't contemptuous.

"And on the plus side," says the Rider, "we're only down by one. Still. I think we should cut our losses. It's almost 1:30 AM. Get some sleep, everyone."

More rustling as the comrades get back under their blankets, weapons by their sides. The Torch moves up to the front to continue guarding. The Rider, still standing and tending to his glasses, looks up. "Who else is on guard with you?" he whispers.

The Torch shrugs, and then realized how effective that is. "I don't know," she said.

The Rider walks up to the front. He wasn't supposed to guard-- the Torch was sure of that-- but she appreciates his company nonetheless. They stand in silence for a while. Two o'clock comes, but the Torch is reluctant to leave.

"I don't know who to wake up," she said.

The Rider shrugs. The Torch sees this, or at least sees his silhouette. "It's okay. I can do it. I'm not going to go back to sleep."

"Thank you," the Torch says. And, just in case he didn't hear her, "Thank you, Rowan."

It was a long night. The Torch has a long day in front of her. But as she folds herself under her yellow sleeping bag, holding the pommel of her sword with her blue-jacketed arm, sleep has never felt so welcome.

Sunday, July 16, 2017


Hi, everyone.

Again, I have a couple things I'm working on. I finally finished SOL 51, but 52, 53, and 54 will take a while to be here. Reason: they're gigantic. Even by my standards.

In fact, I created a (currently hidden) whole new blog for the past two weeks because it's that big. Expect linking posts soon.

The rest of the two weeks involve ducks, communists, hatchets, too many javelins, an abundance of awesome capes, songs about mortgage, the Pope of Darkness, and weirder things. See you soon!

Okay, update on the update. The KHI stuff (above) is taking too long, and there are other things I want to focus on. Like electrocuting trees and my dog at the eclipse. So... KHI stuff might come out, but it also might be out of order. I'll likely use reverse scheduling to make it happen in the first two weeks of July, so it won't be at the top. That's all.

Saturday, July 1, 2017

SOL no. 51: In Search of Chocolate Totoros

Last night Thea sent me an email.
Clever smudginess there. Heh.

Instead of replying via email, I called her to work out the logistics over the phone. That way there won't be a 30-minute lag. Of course I wanted to come, the question was simply if I could, seeing as we live half an hour away from anywhere interesting. So my parents, Thea, and I set it up. I'd take Dad's phone, get on the light rail tomorrow, and meet Thea at the Convention Center.

It wasn't that bad. I had worked up all sorts of irrational fears about traveling by myself, but it was pretty nice. Near Yale, two young women sat across from me. I noticed one's bizarre goggles, but shrugged that off and returned to my book. But I kept glancing at them, and noticed they were in cosplay. Harry Potter cosplay. The one in front of me was clearly Luna Lovegood, with Ravenclaw socks, a Quibbler dust jacket around her book, and the goggles-- spectrospecs. The woman next to her was also wearing robes, but she was just "a Hogwarts student." 

As the ride went on, I noticed that most of the people in our car were bound for Comic Con. Not all of them were in cosplay-- some, like me, probably still had to get their costumes out. A loud Slytherin behind me was having a heated discussion about the vilification of her house.

I got off the light rail station underneath the Convention Center. There were herds of people disembarking. I texted Thea. I'll meet you at the Blue Bear. Wearing red cape. I walked there and opened up my backpack.
I will sprinkle in cool costumes from Comic Con to break up text.
I'd stolen a black backpack from my dad. On the outside, the key chain connector I'd gotten from Lockheed Martin (don't ask why) held Kimie's Baby Groot and my Supermarine Spitfire. In order to make the Spittie connectable, I'd encircled its wings with a huge ring connector. Logic. In the backpack itself was some money, water, snacks, a book (Everybody Sees the Ants), a fake wounds kit from 3rd grade, a cape, a jacket, a scarf, and goggles I'd taken from last year's AS play. I put the nice black velvet jacket over my red shirt, and then clasped the mahogany cape around my throat, and pushed the silver goggles on my forehead like a headband. I wasn't cosplaying anyone in particular, but being me I started inventing a character. I won't bore you with the details. She wasn't a very good character.

I sat at the foot of the Blue Bear, watching a whole assortment of superheroes, cybermen, Hogwarts students, and dozens of other characters-- I recognized a satisfying amount of them-- pass me by. Then, my dad's phone dinged in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw a message from Thea. We're close. Mom's finding parking. I'll come meet  you. And soon I saw her-- a short girl with brown hair, wearing an entirely black outfit with tally-marks scored across her skin.
"I feel like you're looking for something, but I can't remember what," I said.
Thea laughed. "Hi."
Soon Thea's little sister Bailey (dressed as someone from Naruto), Bailey's friend, and Thea's mom, also with Silence tally-marks, joined us.
For details, I recommend clicking on this photo and zooming in
Comic-Con really appeared to be bigger on the inside. We walked up the stairs, and I was in sort of a haze of awesomity. Thea and I split off from the others and wandered around in a daze.

I won't go into a ton of detail, but we had a blast. We nerded out. We bought matching necklaces of Eren's key-- not because either of us are huge Attack on Titan fans, but because the key is a symbol within our friend group. Laura put it on her banner. And also its pretty. We took pictures of... mostly Dr. Who costumes. Thea is a Whovian, in case you didn't notice. But there were these two people who went over-the-top for costumes. I think they weren't at Comic Con to convene-- presumably they'd do that later. But their costumes, well, I'll give pictures.

I also have a video of Dalek Girl gliding-- yes, gliding, on wheels using a motor-- down the street to get in line. (I sort of assumed the person behind the dalek was a girl. Sorry if it's not.) I would show it, but it won't transfer. Sorry.

At one point, we were meandering in the back-left corner when an enticing display caught Thea's eye. "Oh, hey, a chocolate shop!" she said, and we promptly went over there. It was a chocolate shop, but better than any shop I'd ever seen. Scattered on the big table were boxes displaying chocolate... everything. Totoros, Harry Potter wands, emblems and faces of characters and groups from Star Wars, Star Trek, the  Marvel and DC universes, different mangas, and dozens of other things. The two women behind the table were running a healthy business. Thea and I eventually purchased a trio of chocolate Totoros.
We then heartily devoured them. Turns out that the Totoros themselves were made from dark chocolate and white chocolate, but their stands were-- get this-- mini-Oreos covered in milk chocolate.

We meandered around Comic Con for a while, picking up merchandise and eating lunch. Eventually, we found ourselves, once again, at the chocolate table. This time, we purchased a pair of treats-- a brownie-batter-filled Dalek and TARDIS. We'd had some trouble with the odd number of Totoros and attempted to cut the third one in half. 
Here is Thea's TARDIS:

And my chocolate Dalek:
What a Dalek looks like when its "head" has been blown bitten off.
Yeah. That's all. We meandered around Comic Con for the rest of the day, buying mostly Dr. Who merchandise (but some sciency things, like my Schrodinger's Cat shirt) and taking pictures of costumes. I then went to Thea's house and hung out until my dad could pick me up to take me to Taekwondo. Good day.

Finally, I have one last thing. I drew Thea and myself in costume. It's not a very good drawing and I'm probably going to redo Thea's hair and make the keys better.  Also, I have to colour it, but there's no way I would finish before going to Geneva Glen in two days. I still have to finish packing. I apologize for the bad quality, I hastily took a picture.
Thanks for making this possible, Thea. I had a blast.

Sunday, June 25, 2017

SOL no. 50: The End of an Era

DISCLAIMER: This post was written while I was very emotional and mad. It has bad grammar, and I am resisting the urge to fix it. It is censored for cussing but probably doesn't make sense.

Well. 50 SOLs in one year. Damn.
That's quite a lot. I'm getting close to double the requirements. In fact, when you count all my draft posts and uncounted "bonus SOLs", I have a grand total of 62. Exactly double!
Okay, seriously, I didn't plan that. But more importantly-- let me get to my book blog through the class blog. One sec. Heh. Bad internet. Okay... here's the class blog. Wait. What is this?--oh--oh----



I can't.... I can't... no...i won't let forever...i can't save them. i could never save them... at least she saved one. Four total-- two they saved, two never in danger. But three is nothing compared to eleven, to thirteen, to all the faces wiped out.

This is the end of an era.

I always knew it would happen, from the first time in August I logged into my shiny new school account and saw this in the corner of google drive.
Happy. I don't need to worry about running out of storage on Drive. I could upload as many movies as I needed, as many documents, as many emails, as many ancient photographs from Tari's class that I still can't bear to lose.

But a death sentence. All the work they did. All their formatting, all their writing, all their pictures and moments and lives. Gone forever. Because our school pays for the unlimited storage, it means that when the contract expires they take away old accounts that they don't need. Duh. Why pay for the account of someone who isn't a student?

But if you haven't protected your work, that smiling guy with the glasses is a death sentence for it.

I realized this when I went to the class blog and saw this.
I know it doesn't look like it, but I have visited every one of those blogs. Many times. Clicked on those links tens or hundreds of times.

Why, then, are some of them still brown? It isn't because of history clearing, or the old you-visited-the-post-not-the-whole-blog excuse.

It's because those blogs are dead. Forever.

Not all of them have gone the way of GJ, though. Some people saved their work by transferring it to their non-school email.

Willa took it all, saved it all, the other eighths took nothing, but you still have what is important.

Thank god for that, Thea.

I'm a seventh. All the sevenths (Fearless counts) are grey because their work has not vanished yet.

Actually, no. I'm an eighth now.




This is just the latest indication that the Order is dissolved. The Order that I have pledged loyalty to, the Order I have grown in and lived in and felt so comfortable in. The Order I... well, pardon the sentimentality, but the Order that is home to me.

The Order of the Trash-Can Fleur. That's what I call it. Because we have 3/4 of Logan's Fleurs (a summer camp thing, no relation), and we went to NOLA. If you haven't been to NOLA, they are obsessed with the fleur-de-lis there. It's a symbol of the city. They are obsessed.
Image credit here
They even do that. And when addressing all of us, Elizabeth called it the Order. Henceforth, we are the Order of the Trash-Can Fleurs. It's a bizarre name. That's the point. We are a bizarre group, and we are wonderful, and apparently 10 days in the Deep South was too much, because the Denver-grown Order all says y'all.I don't want to leave this. I don't want to leave y'all. I don't want you guys to scatter to the four corners of, um, Colorado, which actually has four corners, and then beyond for college. I don't want to lose you. I don't want you to be replaced. I don't want to lose y'all.
I don't want to leave. I'll cut the rest of the sentimentality.

I knew this was coming. The eighths gave a speech, they stood up and cheered, and then us sevenths stood up and cheered. A couple of the cynics were just glad we were getting off before they had to fight more battles against incredibly dumb moves, like the math ceiling and our beloved language teachers being replaced by computers.

This blog annihilation... it was the last step.

The Order is gone. F***.

I don't want this to happen. But I couldn't stop it.

I hope you will stay in touch with me, read the awkward emails I send y'all asking about rockets and cookies and more time in Alabama. I hope that this Order has left an impact on y'all, like it did me. I hope it won't die forever. But it can no longer stay alive itself. Goodbye, then.
Goodbye, Trash-Can Fleurs. God, I'll miss you.

Saturday, June 17, 2017

SOL no. 49: The Pupdate

My dog.

This thing.

This slice is going to be mostly pictures, but I think we need a bit of an explanation.

This weekend, we went camping. Again. It didn't snow this time. Since it was just the four of us, we... well, yeah, we carcamped, but on our day-hike we went a little bit more overboard. It wasn't a terribly long hike, about 8 miles, but for a puppy with tiny legs that's very long. Plus, we think Piper did about ten miles because she was always running back and forth to check that all of Her People were still there. But she figured out how to do water crossings, and drenched most of her lower body in mud. She also frolicked in the snow and ran into pine trees. At this point we have a good amount of mud, sweat, and pine needles tangled in the Rug-fur of her limbs. So we gave the exhausted Piper, who slept on my lap the entire drive back, a bath.

It is worth mentioning that she weighs about 12 pounds. Less than a quarter pound is fur, but fur makes up about 50% of her volume. Now I will just give you Piper pictures.
This water is warmer than the creek...
This has not been Photoshopped in any way.

Mom does the shampooing, and Liam is the constant-stream-of-chicken supplier.
You can see how much scrawnier she is than the dry picture.

This picture has not been PhotoShopped in any way.
What is this strange apparatus?
She looks so much more like a lab now.
This is Koosh-Ball Foot. Her leg is slicked down but the fluff on her foot is free-floating in the water. It's ridiculous.
More Koosh-Ball Foot
Bath is done... time for a toweling!

Our bathtub post-Piper.
...and with the water drained. How much dirt can be in one little puppy?
...and finally a picture of her through the window, because weirdness.

Friday, June 16, 2017

SOL no. 48: Hi, Again

I just spent an hour packing.

Seriously, it should not have taken me that long, but I'm kind of lazy.

The important thing is what I've been packing for. On Tuesday, I'm returning to see an old friend again. It's the only Logan camp I've bothered to do in years (the last two years, it's been pointed more and more towards small children and scared anyone in 4+ grade away) but I went to the Sand Dunes a few years ago on a class trip and it was awesome. Liam will go with me. I don't know any of the other names of the folks. But I know that Max will be leading the trip. That's enough said.
This is yet another official broadcast from [A Title Goes Here] broadcasting company. All formatting errors are in the original. Images have been provided to add context.

LUIS: Chaika! Hey, Chaika!

CHAIKA: Oh, hi, Luis. Fancy seeing you here. [grins]

LUIS: Do you still have that dumb jacket?

CHAIKA: [laughs] Yes, actually-- it's in my backpack.

LUIS: Damn. That's impressive. It's been two years, and its still tied around your waist. And let's not forget two years before that--

CHAIKA: Damn. Has it really been two years since I saw you, Luis?

LUIS: Yep. And it's been four years since we met. You've grown.

CHAIKA: You... look exactly the same. Duh.

LUIS: So you're an eighth grader now?

CHAIKA: [shudders] Um, yes, technically, but really I am a seventh still, I'm not--

LUIS: You were a fourth when I met you. Does Mark still teach?

CHAIKA: Yeah. Um-- he doesn't have a classroom, but he still teaches. Basically helps kids with big projects. Oh, hey, there's the chicken station!

LUIS: Yeah. The chicken station. Do you still have those pictures?

CHAIKA: Of course!

[pause of about an hour. Chaika reads Fall of Giants again, Luis stares out the window]

LUIS: Hey, Chaika. You're going swimming at the pool again?

CHAIKA: Yep. The pool. We can see where we stayed.

LUIS: And you're hiking to high dune, and Zapata falls. So this whole thing is just deja vu all over again, isn't it?

CHAIKA: No, not all of it! We're going to an alligator farm. I love gators.

LUIS: Really? Huh. When did that happen?

CHAIKA: When we went to NOLA.

LUIS: Um... what's NOLA? Sorry. I don't travel much.

CHAIKA: New Orleans, LouisiAna. Capital A on the "Ana."

LUIS: Oh. Okay.

CHAIKA: But... yeah, the rest of it is sort of deja vu. That's why I'm doing it.

LUIS: Yeah, you were always the memory sort. Livin' in the past, huh, Chaika?

CHAIKA: Shut up.

[Luis complies. Chaika keeps reading. I've Heard the Screams of the Vegetables plays, to Liam's delight. Chaika hums along. She almost knows the song by heart, and really not on purpose. The Sand Dunes come into sight.]

MAX: Hey, guys! Check it out!

[The bus whoops. 30 minutes pass, and it pulls into a campground. Chaika has packed up her gear. She clutches her book at the part where Fitz panics and his troops play soccer with Walter's. She and Luis disembark the bus.]

CHAIKA: Okay, Luis, guess you'd better leave now. See ya round.

LUIS: Yeah. I'll keep an eye on you all, Chaik.

CHAIKA: Chaika, please. Chaik is a terrible name. It's almost as bad as your full name.

LUIS: [blushing] Shut up. Do not call me by my full name. Hey, after this, will it be two years until our paths cross again?

CHAIKA: [scoffs] Ach, hell knows. I'll be out of here on Friday. Short.

LUIS: Bye, Chaikaaaaa.

CHAIKA: Oh god. You are a pain in the... um. Well, bye then, San Luis Valley.

Sunday, June 11, 2017

SOL no. 47: Spring Spring Sprong

I was in NOLA over my brother's birthday. I have no idea what he did, who came over, and whether or not they were in my room. All I know is that I bought him a jigsaw puzzle of NOLA (heh) and when I got back Liam was 11. 
So he's a tween now. Oh god.
It took him a few days to put this together. Even though it makes a bad map, I pointed out good restaurants using it.
Image credit here.
There was an assortment of LeGos (a very awkward tribute to RM) on the basement floor. Mostly Star Wars. He'd put them together and hadn't played with them since. I love Legos too. I like putting them together, and occasionally scrambling around minifigs to make my characters. I don't have enough long hair pieces to make many of my female chars, though. And there's no blue cape for Pax. But besides that, I haven't played with my Legos since Laura came over and... damn. I don't have photos. But we stuck appendages everywhere and created horrifying centaur-bat-demon-bamboo things. But other than that, I have outgrown Legos. They are in the basement now. And I think Liam has too, he just refuses to give them up.

I think there should be a little-free-library for Lego sets. You pick one up, take the pieces out of labeled plastic bags (like Ziplocks) put it together, take it apart, put the bits back in the Ziplocks, and send it on its way. Only problem is that people would definitely lose/steal pieces. 


But more importantly, Liam's present from the parents was three giant boxes, each weighing 50+ pounds. They stood on our patio until this Sunday, when we unwrapped them. They contained trampoline bits.

TANGENT: My dog loves to eat cardboard. She is a canine holepuncher. Also a dishwasher. Our recycling bin is always full of mauled scraps like this:
Actually, that one's pretty new. Usually they're more mauled. End of tangent.

It took us most of the morning, but we got the steel and foam apparatuses together. My mom and I finished the net in the afternoon, while the boys were at football. So now we have a trampoline.

P.S: If you've been to my house before, you might remember an old wooden play structure. We destroyed that before putting up the trampoline. No one but Piper used it anymore. But that was cute.

P.P.S: Also, no dogs are allowed on the trampoline. Sorry.
Sorry for blurriness.