Over Labor Day weekend, we took our annual trip to Lake Dillon. I have mad love for this part of Colorado, so much so that I want to pack up and move to this tiny town and become mayor. Well, maybe not mayor, but I bet I could get elected at least to the city council.

Truth? The only thing that holds me back from renting a u-haul and packing that bad boy up are my squirrels.  I’m being serious.  They need me.

That and Lake Dillon doesn’t have a Target. And it averages like 416 feet of snow in the winter.

So we go and we play on the lake and we eat. All weekend long.  We stayed in a condo that overlooked the marina and I don’t think we will do that again because the condo had a kitchen, which means I was granted the privilege of cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner. Just like at home! The only thing that was missing was a washer and dryer, toss in a few loads, it’s like we never left the house.

I decided to take the night off from my cooking duties and we went out to dinner at a brewery. We eat there every summer and it was within walking distance from the place we were staying. Please note that we have been slowly potty training Troy all summer, making teeny tiny amounts of progress and him showing very little interest in it at all. I mean, why go to all that trouble of using the toilet when you can piss your diaper and not even get up off the couch! And people rush around to get you a new diaper. It’s a genius set-up and it makes me wish I wasn’t potty trained either.

Dinner goes off without a hitch meaning nobody stood up in their high chair and knocked over a bowl of noodles and nobody cried over the blue crayon not being “sharp enough” and everyone ate their meal seated in a chair without screaming/crying/fighting. I chalk it up to running their guts out at the lake, they were pretty much too tired to make a scene.

Almost.

The check comes and I hand over my debit card. J is boxing up the leftovers and the waiter comes back with the check and my card. He tries to hand it to J and says, “Here’s your card, sir…”

I tell him it’s my card and that I will take it and the waiter glances at the card and says, “Oh, I’m sorry, I just saw Zakary and assumed it was a man”.

At this point, Troy chimes in and with his very loud outside voice says, “MOMMA HAZ WEE-NER?!”

On one hand, good for Troy, he’s been listening during the potty training instructions. You know, boys make pee pee come out their wee-ners on the toilet, not in their diapers.

And on the other hand, every table around us and our waiter heard Troy announce his mother has a weiner.