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By Robin Dearing
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
Here's Margaret as she was getting ready to leave for her first day of 9th grade:
Super cute, indeed!
Her first day went fine. She's pleased with most of her courses and has friends with whom she can eat lunch. She's going into this year with a better attitude and is focusing on her school work and trying to stay out of the drama (if that's possible among teenaged girls).
But this morning, she was so tired, she put her head down on the table instead of eating. I'm feeling it, too. We have to get up much earlier than last year because we have a longer drive to get her to her new school.
Maybe it's because I'm tired, but I'm so irritated with the school district. Could someone please explain why high-school kids need to start school at 7:25? Elementary kids start at 8:50. Why not move high-school start time to 8 a.m.?
By Robin Dearing
Friday, August 1, 2014
When I brought home The Box by Fitmark, my husband said, "Wow! That's a nice bag." When I showed him what was inside, he was doubly impressed.
Fitmark creates their high-quality bags specifically for the fitness enthusiasts, but they are useful to armchair athletes, as well. The Box is more than just a bag for carrying your lunch. It is a food organizer that comes complete with two Meal Containers, ice packs and their Smartshake Shaker Bottle which holds drink powders and any pills, vitamins or supplements that you may need during your day or your workout.
I can easily see me using this bag to pack my husband's lunches during the week and then using it on the weekends for when we go rafting or skiing. I love that the front of The Box zips open so the you can put your food on the flap. Plus the divider is velcroed to the bottom, so it can be moved out of the way for largers items. Honestly, I've never seen a nicer food-carrying box that includes everything I will need to pack a good meal.
The lid has a mesh pocket for silverware and napkins. The outside has larger mesh pocket that easily fits my husband's travel coffee cups. The Box has a handle on top and an adjustable carrying strap, too. Those Fitmark people are really clever in their design, plus they use really nice materials that will last.
Overall, I was really impressed with the quality and functionality of The Box by Fitmark. The fact that the ice packs, containers and drink shaker are all included is impressive. Fitmark is selling a complete meal management system in one easy-to-use soft-sided box. Very nice product and I can't recommend it highly enough.
For more information about Fitmark, you can find then on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and Instagram @FitmarkBags.
By Randee Bergen
Monday, July 28, 2014
Early in the summer, I was camping in the southern Utah town of Cedar City. After a day of hiking and then napping by the pool at the campground, I ventured out for a short run about town.
Heading south down the main street, from the northern end of town, I came upon a picturesque cemetery. The tall trees, in an otherwise high desert setting, cast shade about the thick, neatly trimmed grass, made a brilliant green by the slant of the evening sun, and upon the roads leading into the cemetery, vacant on this late Sunday afternoon, inviting me in.
At first I focused on my running, feeling fortunate for the quiet roads and cooler venue. Out of respect, I ran as lightly as I could, placing each step without sound upon the pavement. Is this irreverent? I wondered. I’ve run alongside my hometown cemetery, but never through it.
But soon my attention was on the headstones.
There was something perplexing about them. Each marker seemed recently placed – clean and gleaming like new countertops, all with what appeared to be freshly incised lettering. A newer section of the cemetery, I thought, but, with the inscriptions so sharp and mysteriously not timeworn, I could see, easily, that they were diversely aged, many having been situated there more than 50 years.
How has time not permanently dusted and dulled these markers? Why are the loving inscriptions and vital statistics not worn down, lost to those looking upon them now for the first time? My wondering continued as I ran.
And the decorations! The sites, nearly every one, were adorned with bright bouquets, crisp and new, like the headstones themselves. Deep reds, not one bit faded from the hot western sun, and yellows vibrant as if they had just popped that morning. I saw balloons, aloft of the markers, not drooping in the least, seemingly placed just moments before I arrived. Hats, flags, garden decor. All tidy. Colorful. Nothing out of place. Every grave looking as if it had been attended to that day.
How is this possible? I wondered, looking around, searching for someone, anyone, to inquire if they were noticing what I was noticing, to ask if they knew the secret of this place. It would make sense if it was just past Memorial Day, but the holiday formerly known as Decoration Day was two weeks gone. No one else. No one there to wonder with.
I thought of my running friend, how we’d discuss this if she was here. And my hiking partner; he’d enjoy contemplating these things with me. But mostly I thought of my mom. I remember visiting with her live-in partner one day, remember him saying something about how my mom never says, “I don’t know.” He said that when he asks her a question and she doesn’t know the answer she won’t say, “I don’t know.” She’ll muse about it, toss out some ideas, ask him what he thinks. He didn’t seem to understand why she would do that, why she wouldn’t just say, “I don’t know.”
“Is that bad?” I asked him. “Because I do that, too!” I visualized doing this with my mom; yes, we definitely had thought, together, about things we weren’t sure about, exchanged ideas, furthered our thinking, and often come up with answers or explanations that we wouldn’t have, had we not gone through the process of wondering, together.
I needed my mom, a friend, information about this cemetery, Google, anyone.
After running crisscross up and down all the paved roads in the cemetery, I came upon a newer section toward the back. Here, the roads were gravel. Here, there were no trees, none casting shade anyway. But the markers themselves looked the same–new, recently etched, smartly adorned. An American flag, not faded in the least, flapped in the wind, wind not previously perceived in the more protected confines of the cemetery.
I ran on.
Now I came upon a small dirt area, red dirt, typical of the southwest. Short sticks and rocks marked the burial sites, presumably those of pets. Twenty graves perhaps. Why just 20? Just 20 beloved pets lost over all these years? Perhaps the pet cemetery concept hadn’t taken off or the idea ruled against. A few weeds grew here. Why are there weeds here and nowhere else? Why haven’t they been pulled?
Oh, to mull these thoughts over with someone.
Not far from the pet cemetery, I came upon an information board and a map explaining the layout of the cemetery. A bit of information to shape my pondering.
What? Not a pet cemetery, but an Indian burial area. More questions. Why just 20 or so Indians? Maybe shortly after Indians were permitted (or chose) to be buried here, they were included in the regular sections, treated equally, with grass instead of weeds, proper markers rather than sticks and stones.
I went back to the little dirt area. Took a closer look. Noticed an etching on one of the sandstone rocks placed there. Tom somebody. This rudimentary carving was not sharp, not legible, not even up close, not even later when I zoomed in on the photo. October 1947? 1941? Space for just one date. Was this the year of birth or death? Probably death. Tom. Lost. Lost to most.
I continued on through the cemetery, taking each road one more time. Wondering about this place. Wondering about wondering. I could stop by the office the next morning. Ask some questions. Inquire. I could, upon arriving home, do some research on the Internet. Was there another cemetery in Cedar City? An older, more historic, more typical one? Where were most Indians buried, back then and now, too?
No, forget it. I wasn’t going to. To leave here just wondering, that’s what I decided to do.
I recall mentioning to my aunt the conversation I had had about my mother and her wondering, her thinking aloud, her expecting others to build upon her thoughts, her using this approach to try to come to some understanding, some conclusions. I recall my aunt saying, “I didn’t have a mother who wondered. I had a mother who said, ‘I don’t know.’ It was the more appropriate thing to do in her time.” And then, “I missed out on a lot of conversations.”
So here’s to the power of wondering, to thinking aloud. And here’s to my mother for engaging in this behavior, drawing me in, teaching me to wonder, to just wonder.
By Richie Ann Ashcraft
Monday, July 21, 2014
The bloggers here at GJSentinel.com deserve a big pat on the back for winning first place in the 2014 Digital Media Contest for Best Blog Initiative!
This national award was given in all contest classes combined!
The Haute Mamas are proud to be among the voices who help make the Blog page of GJSentinel.com so great.
To read more award-winning blogs, CLICK HERE.
By Richie Ann Ashcraft
Thursday, July 17, 2014
Remember a couple of months ago my post about how much we needed to get done this summer? READ IT HERE in the first paragraph or just recall that I had a moment of overwhelment (is that a word?) about how short summer was and how much we needed to get done. Fishing and camping were big on that list.
So that's what we've been doing — every single weekend. Seriously, we've slept in the woods every weekend since June 13th.
Our boys have discovered camping this summer — and they freakin LOVE it!!!
We're living for the weekend. On Friday nights, we rushed home, packed the car, load the canoe and drive up to the Grand Mesa. By sunset, our tent is up and dinner is served. I can't hardly believe that we're not only doing it but doing it every single weekend. Best summer ever!
We started out a bit shaky and unprepared. It took a long time to load the car that first weekend. I was raiding the kitchen for supplies and was generally disorganized. As the weeks have gone, we've gotten better and more efficient. We created a "car camping box" which I supplied with utensils and other necessities from the dollar store. We're careful to replace anything we use, like bug spray, and have added more essentials like a sweet first aid kit each week.
I have spent quite some time on Pinterest researching things to cook in foil packets, like bannana boats, a new Ashcraft family favorite. Over Fourth of July, we ate like kings with steaks and potatoes, grilled breakfast burritos, and coffee. Other weeks, however, we keep it very simple with Ramen noodles, boiled eggs, cheese and crackers. I've figured out how to put a weekend worth of meals for a family of five into a half size cooler. I know, I rock, and I've mastered this car camping thing.
We stay in our 4-man tent with Kip. This is the last summer that we're going to be able to do that because our tent is very, very crowded. We've spent hours around camp debating a new tent vs. a tent trailer upgrade. On the one hand, my old back would love a cush mattress. On the other hand, there's a certain amount of "roughing it" that every camper should experience.
I love this tent and I love sleeping with my family in big mess of arms and legs. It's been a good den. But, one thing is for sure though, these boys won't stop this growing thing they keep doing so something will have to change next summer.
Last weekend, our packing was so efficient that we found time to load up the canoe too. I'm not sure which the boys like better, boating or fishing, but luckily they don't have to choose.
It's been quite a summer so far I must say — one I'm surely going to be miss.
By Randee Bergen
Thursday, July 17, 2014
I realized later that I hadn’t seen the whole post, the entire paragraph. There was a quote, then a line space, and at the bottom…
I love the assignment part I commented on the post, thinking the assignment was one word, to focus on today, to make the most of it.
The person commented back that I could download the app and it would give me a new assignment every day. I took a closer look and saw that the word today was only the first word in a multi-sentence assignment. I wasn’t interested in the entire description of the assignment (hardly read it) or the app, particularly. I had already decided that my assignment was today. Just today.
Today. An optimistic word full of promise. Today. A fleeting notion. Today. Something that definitely needs to be grabbed onto and made the most of.
This wasn’t a new revelation for me, this embracing of the gift of a day. It just reiterated for me how I shouldn’t waste precious time, moments, or–the worst–an entire day.
Earlier that morning, I went hiking with a friend and she told she was thinking about doing a sprint triathlon coming up in September. “I just need to commit. Commit to the training,” she bemoaned.
“I’ll do it with you,” I said. I spit it out, before I could think about it, before I could tell myself no. “I’ll train with you.”
“Really? You will?” she asked, stopping in the trail, ahead of me, and turning back to look at me.
“Yes.” It wouldn’t be my first tri. I’ve done several since I started running about six years ago. Most triathletes have to conquer the swimming portion of a triathlon, already being capable enough of the running and the biking. For me, the swimming is the easiest part and the pedaling isn’t so hard either; it’s the running that kills me. I am a slow runner. And I’m especially slow after swimming, riding my bike, and then attempting to run.
I’d pretty much written off any more triathlons and any serious running training as well, for that matter. In fact, I had just recently decided that I was only going to run, ever again, if I felt like it. I wasn’t going to push myself. I love exercise and I do all sorts of it and I figured it was no big deal if I ever ran again. I wasn’t that good at it anyway, even back a few years ago when I was running a lot.
But, there is this secret inner part of me that still wants to be a runner, that wants to be stronger, that wants to lose the 15 pounds I’ve gained since I quit running on a regular basis. And that secret inner longing was probably what made me spew the words “I’ll do it with you” before my brain could really think about it and override the pact I was about to make.
My friend and I hiked to the high point on the trail–Eagle Wing–where we finalized the commitment to train together and took our official commitment selfie.
On the way down, we made a training schedule. We decided which mornings we would swim, when we would run trails, and that we’d have to squeeze biking into evenings and weekends.
From now on, starting today, I am in training. I will write a weekly training plan and try to stick with it, taking it one day at a time, focusing on today, doing my best, and then moving on to the next day.
I must admit I’m excited. I didn’t want to be done being a runner (slow as I am, a runner who runs on a fairly regular basis, runs a few races here and there, and enjoys the benefits of a leaner and stronger body) but I was definitely in a slump and developing a negative mindset, thinking I was too old to run and that I was never meant to run anyway.
But today is a new day. And I’ve got a new challenge and a new focus.
By Robin Dearing
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
(Photo by Margaret McCracken)
By Robin Dearing
Saturday, July 12, 2014
It's been a while since I've written because we've been back east for two weeks visiting my husband's family ... his very large family on both Bill’s mother’s and father’s side.
Bill was born and raised in western New York, in and around Buffalo. Have you ever been to Buffalo? It's truly a beautiful place and don't even get me started on the food. The city has so much beautiful and significant architecture. I had to keep my head on a swivel to take it all in.
Every day as we'd go about our sightseeing, I would think, "I could live here." Then, I'd get out of the air-conditioned car and think, "I could never live here." But the family and culture is very appealing … also, did I mention the food?
Going from our dry, desert climate to the humid heat of the Great Lakes area was quite a shock. I had lived in Pennsylvania while going to grad school and really loved it, but I moved from the San Francisco Bay Area which has humidity of its own.
We stayed in a suburb of Buffalo called Cheektowaga for a week while we visited with Bill's sister, Valerie, and her awesome family. They are so warm, loving and fun. Our week went way too fast. While there, we visited the Albright Knox Museum, took in the sights of the city of Buffalo and ate out many, many times. One day everyone went to an amusement park, while I spend the afternoon touring the Darwin Martin house which was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright (I will still regale anyone who will listen with the details of that amazing architecture).
The Greek food was wonderful; I love souvalki. Almost every restaurant had pizza, wings, French onion soup and beef on weck. What’s “weck”? It is quite possibly the most perfect bread roll ever created. And because it’s bread I couldn’t eat any of it (insert frowny face here). I did, however, convert our lovely daughter-in-law, Lacie, into a beef on weck lover and she ate my share for me.
That brings me to one of the best parts of the trip: Bill, Margaret and I got to spent almost the entire trip with Bill’s son, Sean, and his awesome wife. They live here in the Valley, but being young people doing young people things, we don’t see them as often as we’d like.
(At Niagara Falls ... it was windy.)
Margaret got to celebrate her 14th birthday with her brother Sean, Uncle Bob, Aunt Val and Cousin Ryan with Buffalo's famous pizza and wings (she even ate a clam).
We crammed all five us in into our rented Camry for many fun adventures, including visiting both the Great Lakes Erie and Ontario. While Sean was born in New York, Lacie had never seen the lakes before and remained unconvinced that they were actually lakes and not the ocean.
(Sean and Lacie wading in Lake Ontario. Lacie's face will tell you how cold it was.)
We drove to Canada two times with Sean and Lacie and once after they had gone home to visit Toronto (raising the number of foreign countries Margaret has visited so far this year to four — yes, I’m still a bit jealous).
We also held a memorial for Bill’s lovely mother, Clara, who passed away in January. Bill’s sister from his mom, Valerie and her family arranged a wonderful event that focused on celebrating Clara’s life. There was delicious food (of course) and a rowdy crowd of some of the best people you could ever meet. Despite the heat and humidity of the day, seeing everyone come together to remember Clara was a special day, indeed.
(At Clara's memorial.)
The second week was spent about an hour outside of Buffalo in the tiny, rural hamlet of Barker (good luck finding it on a map) with Bill’s dad, Bill Sr. and stepmom, Fran. His two brothers Shannon and Jamie live on the same street (I feel sorry for their letter carrier, so many McCrackens within a couple of miles of each other on the same street). Jamie, his wife Sadie and their daughter Siobhan had quite the surprise when they woke up on the 4th to find their older daughter Lietta had been flown in as a surprise. Bill Sr. had all of his grandchildren and great-grandchildren together for the first time.
Bachelor brother Shannon recently purchased a property which includes an old farm house (perfect for him as he is a contractor) and 70 acres of some of the most gorgeous land, I’ve ever seen, not unlike the impressive acreage owned by Bill Sr. Both are avid hunters and can do so on their own property. The thick woods and lush vegetation is just something we don't see out here. Truly beautiful.
Shannon hosted a Fourth of July party and invited the entire family. I’m not sure how many people were there, but there were somewhere around 40 McCrackens alone. Bill’s sister, Diana, and her family came up from Pennsylvania with her kids and grandkids. It was so fun to see in person all the kids that we’ve only seen on Facebook. Having the entire McCracken side of the family together was such a special treat.
We spent so much time visiting with aunts, uncles, cousins and the spouses lucky enough to marry into the family, there was never a dull moment. I smiled so much, my cheeks are still sore.
(Here we are with Bill's Uncle Roger and his wife Robin, Bill's brother Shannon at cousin Dawn and her husband Chuck's house. No better way to spend an hot, humid afternoon than soaking in a pool with super fun people).
I’m truly lucky to have married into such of loving group of people. They are the salt of the earth, they take care of each other and love each other unconditionally. This trip was fun and wonderful for all of us, Margaret, the most. She had such a rough year her last year in junior high. Spending this time with family was exactly what she needed. Our two weeks went by way too fast and none of us were really ready to go home.
On our way to the airport, Margaret posted this on Facebook: I had the absolute best time in New York and I'm so glad that I got this time to spend with my family. I missed them so much and I've only been gone for 3 minutes and I miss them. Family is probably the most important thing in this world and I have the best family in the world. I really hate saying goodbye.
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
By Randee Bergen
Friday, July 11, 2014
“Mom, I got VATted today,” Amy said as she came through the front door. Neither success or defeat was conveyed.
“Oh yeah, how’d it go?” She had told me about some of the other lifeguards getting VATted so I knew what she was talking about.
“I failed. Big time. It was so embarrassing.”
She had been through a weekend of rigorous lifeguard training two months prior and was required to get a certain number of inservice hours each month to ensure her training remained fresh and up-to-date. In addition, she, and the other guards, would occasionally be VATted. This, her first time to experience it, was during her second full week of guarding.
“I was guarding the deep end and there were only three people using it. I knew where they all were and none of them were in the water. One was standing on the edge, one was talking to her friend by the hot tub, and the other was walking to the diving board.” Having been to this pool several times, I pictured the scene in my mind. “So, I’m just standing there, keeping an eye on these people, and this little boy comes up behind me and taps on me. Tap, tap, tap. I look down. He’s about six. He says, ‘That man over there threw a baby doll in the water. Aren’t you supposed to get it?’
“OMG,” I said, knowing how she must have felt. To have a little kid see the baby doll go in, to have him know that she’s getting tested, to have him come and tell her she might just want to rescue it.
“Yeah. So, I only have 20 seconds to get the manikin to the surface. It’d probably been down there for over a minute already. Maybe two. So I jump in and go down for it. And I didn’t have enough air. I couldn’t get it. I had to resurface and try again. And that little kid watched me the whole time. Probably the whole place did.”
“I’m sorry, honey.” I thought back to her training stories. She had brought up real live grown men who were hanging out on the bottom of the pool, waiting to be “rescued.” So I knew she could bring the baby up, that she had the skills to do it.
“So what happens if you fail a VAT?” I asked. I invested nearly $400 for her to become a lifeguard, from the training course to the red lifeguard suits and shorts and guard t-shirts and then the expensive Chaco sandals that would provide enough support for standing all day and wouldn’t fall off when she jumped in for a rescue. I hoped she wouldn’t be fired. More important, though, I didn’t want her to fail, to think she wasn’t competent enough. This was her first real job. It demanded a lot of responsibility for a 15-year-old, but I knew she could do it.
I thought back to my lifeguarding days. I remember taking a course that was several weeks long, but after passing that and getting hired by the city where I grew up, I had no further training. And I lifeguarded for three summers.
“Since I didn’t pass, I’ll get VATted a lot over the next two weeks. And if I continue to fail, I’ll get fired.”
“Oh, I think you’ll do okay the next time it happens. You’ll be ready.”
“Me, too.” Now she sounded confident. “I learned a lot today. I’m kind of glad it happened the way it did because I realize I wasn’t scanning the bottom. We were trained to scan the bottom, kind of like scanning your mirrors in driver’s ed. We’re supposed to do it on a schedule. And I wasn’t doing that. I didn’t think it was necessary since I knew where my three people were. But now I know. I have to do it all the time.”
I loved what I was hearing–not only that she realized the VAT was a good learning experience, but she already knew what to take away from it.
Several weeks later, I had my own experience with the VAT manikin. I was swimming laps at the outdoor pool. The big, busy outdoor pool. The lap lanes are in the center of the pool, a calm, quiet oasis between the crowded shallow part of the pool and the hectic deep end with the diving boards. No one who isn’t swimming laps is supposed to be in the lap lanes and no one’s supposed to cut across them to get from one end of the pool to the next.
I was in the far lane, the one next to the deep end. Whenever I front crawled in this lane, I could see how the bottom of the pool dropped off, right under the rope, sloping from about five feet deep beneath me to twelve under the diving boards. At the end of the lane was a lifeguard stand. When I’d stop swimming to take a breather, I’d nonchalantly check out the guard there, to see how engaged he or she was, to see if I could notice elements of the training that my daughter had told me about.
Sometimes the guards used the stand, sometimes they didn’t and instead stood on the edge, or paced back and forth, moving, watching, scanning.
As I approached the wall, doing breast stroke, on the day I think of as my VAT day, I could see the red of a lifeguard standing near the edge of the pool, a watery figure through my goggles as I lifted my head to breathe. Two quick reports of the whistle, the leaping figure, and the giant splash not five feet from me seemed to happen simultaneously, the wake pushing me sideways, even with the rope there to squelch it, and I knew instantaneously what all of this was about.
The lifeguard had jumped in to save someone!
I took one more stroke and was at the wall, turning my body back and toward the deep end. What was going on? I shoved my goggles up on my cap to get a clearer picture.
But I could see no commotion. No victim. All I saw was the guard, a girl, holding her sunglasses in one hand, the rescue tube in the other. She was treading water, looking at nothing in particular, not for a person in distress or at the bottom of the pool. And she was smiling.
Something was wrong with her. She wasn’t thinking straight. She wasn’t rescuing the victim. She had given up and she was just treading water and… smiling.
Some sort of instinct kicked in in me. My old lifeguarding instinct. My mommy instinct. My teacher instinct. My adult instinct. So much experience, so many instincts, all raring to go. I knew I could help. Plus, I had my goggles! I’d be able to see the entire bottom of the pool!
I pulled the goggles back down over my eyes. And then… then I hesitated.
Maybe I shouldn’t interfere. I didn’t work here. My training was decades old. I could, possibly, make the situation worse.
And then it hit me, why the guard wasn’t trying, and why she was smiling. Why she thought this whole thing was funny.
Her twenty seconds were up.
She had failed. She knew it. And there was nothing to do now but smile and handle it graciously while the crowd looked on.
When I figured it out, I smiled, too. Smiled that I was all raring to save someone.
It was almost a year later, just a few days ago actually, that I went to swim laps at the indoor pool. My daughter was working. Guarding. I watched her for a few minutes. Pacing the edge, scanning, guarding. Really guarding. She was no longer a rookie. She looked good. Impressive. Serious. Professional.
On my way out, in the lobby, I saw this sign explaining about the VAT (Vigilance Awareness Training) manikin. Oh, so that’s what VAT stands for, I thought. The sign was large and it explained why the VAT doll was used, but it was in a corner where, I think, most patrons probably don’t see it.
To me, people need to be told as they enter the pool, need to be made aware, somehow, that the baby doll manikin might be in use. To see someone toss a baby into the deep end or to watch as a guard either does or does not bring the tiny victim up, could result in a brief episode–as it did me–of manikin panickin’!
By Richie Ann Ashcraft
Thursday, July 10, 2014
I've heard a lot of complaining around my house lately about how "boooorrreed" the boys are.
So, I've spent a lot of my time trying to help them combat this boredom. I purposely hired an older teenager who knows how to drive. She takes them to the pool, the park, the Silo, Kidzplex, and the $1 movies at Regal Cinemas. I've ran to the craft store on my lunch hour to get them tie-dye, paint and canvas for art projects. The sitter has created scavenger hunts, water gun wars and the "I'm Bored" bin as seen on Pinterest. (Click that board. Fer reals. It's AWESOME!)
I even signed them up for a 5K.
The boys have a pool in the backyard. They have new bikes in the garage with a dirt field a few blocks away. They have plastic toys made in China. They have LEGOs. They have a piano and an electric guitar. They have Apple TV.
I'm done with that and I told them so the other day. I gave them the old school "Do you know what I did when I was a kid? I had to play UNO by myself."
They rolled their eyes. But, seriously, I'm done. I'm tired of making the effort to keep them entertained all summer. It's an effort not appreciated because I never let them get bored.
It's my fault. Kids should get bored. And mine are going to. Sorry boys, but the dog days of summer are upon you.