This past weekend, I got to hang out with my brothers and sister and their spouses. Also with my parents. That's us up there. (By us, I mean my brothers, sisters, and parents. No spouses in this one.) We stayed in a truly ginormous house: ten bedrooms, eight bathrooms, indoor and outdoor pools, two basketball courts. Big. But when there are 27 people, I suppose you need a huge house to accommodate.
Since I'm the youngest in the family, I'm used to taking up the leftovers the older siblings didn't want. Old clothes. Old hairbrushes. Old news. So of course, I didn't get to choose a private bedroom. My husband and I got to share with my brother and his wife, and my sister and her husband. My brother snores. We pushed two twin beds together, so if I snuggled with my husband during the night I was tempting the great divide to suck me in. It rained.
Aside from all this, it was a fantastic weekend. We ate and ate and ate. Then drove and ate some more. Zion's National Park was beautiful. The rainy weather brought theclouds down to cover the tops of the mountains, creating contrasts between gray sky and red rocks. Trees at the tippy tops of the cliffs looked like divers preparing to jump.
We laughed a lot. Over fish tacos, I heard a new favorite joke:
Why did Sally fall off the swing? Because she didn't have arms.
Knock Knock. *Who's there?* Not Sally.
*giggle* I have yet to decide why I think this is so funny.
Saturday morning, we gathered in the cavernous kitchen and said a prayer together, for safety in traveling back home and for gratitude that we all get along and still like each other. That by itself is pretty amazing.
The last couples' retreat my husband and I went on was ten years ago. It was worth the wait.
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