Ain't No Mountain High Enough - Wait. Yes there is. Nevermind.

You know that great Motown hit Ain't No Mountain High Enough? It's a lie, friends. A big, fat lie. Because there is a mountain high enough to keep me from gettin' to you, babe. It's in Alaska.

Aquaman is off on another great adventure as one of a three man crew aboard a commercial fishing vessel in Prince William Sound. The captain is awesome, the crew is fantastic and Aquaman is loving every minute of it. He's been there since June and The Wrecking Crew and I decided to take the opportunity to visit in July. So we headed back to Cordova where we lived right after we got married - we had our first jobs, bought our first home and had all of our babies in this tiny fishing village of 2300 people.

The Wrecking Crew and I arrived ready to pack in as much activity as we possibly could in three weeks. There were old friends to see, new friends to make, salmon to eat, berries to pick and trails to hike.

Although The Redhead was actually born here (the twins were born in Anchorage) and all three lived the first 3-4 years of their lives here, they didn't remember much. I felt like a tour guide of amnesiacs, trying to prompt memories and recollections by taking them to places that had been so much a part of their daily lives. It didn't work. It was like they were seeing it all for the first time. Which is kind of wonderful in its own way.

Because the weather in this coastal community can be so extreme (and by extreme I mean 160 inches of precipitation a year), you learn to get outside when the sun is shining. After two days of rain and wind, the sun came out. I felt compelled to make it count. I woke the boys up before noon (Imagine!) and got them fed. It was just The Redhead and Thing 2 because Thing 1 was out on the boat with Aquaman, learning what seining for pink salmon is all about.

That's Thing 1 smiling and Aquaman smiling even bigger
while they are photobombed by another crew member.

 

"We're climbing Mt. Eyak today!" I announced.

"Can we pick berries?" The Redhead asked. "Is it far?" Thing 2 chimed in.

"You'll see!" I answered. "You're gonna climb a mountain!"

I couldn't contain my excitement. I'd done this hike half a dozen times during the 8 years we lived there. It offered the best views of Orca Inlet and Prince William Sound as well as Eyak Lake and the Copper River Delta. I knew the boys would be impressed. Off we went.

My euphoria was short-lived. The Redhead quickly separated from us - choosing his own path - and then Thing 2 went a different route from mine. I had wrongly assumed they would just follow me. Getting separated is a no-no on Alaska trails. Groups make noise; noise warns off bears. A lone hiker doesn't make noise (unless consciously doing so) and can end up right on top of a very surprised bear. Surprised bear = bad. When our trails again converged at the top of the ski lift, I explained all of this and told them not to leave my sight again.

The beginning. Less than thrilled.
"Whaddya mean we can't leave your sight?" 

The base of the ski hill is 400 feet in elevation and the ski lift ends at 1200 feet with a vertical drop of 800 feet. This is all most people ever see. The single chair ski lift is the oldest operating chairlift in North America (which was no comfort to me when I was on it a handful of times). Mt. Eyak Ski Area is bustling with people when there's fresh powder in the winter and well trafficked in the summer because of its proximity to the center of town.

The trail beyond gets steadily narrower - hard to follow in some places - and the views get more and more spectacular.

Spectacular. But don't those little chairs look scary?

I'm not kidding when I say narrow.
That's the trail - hardly bigger than the width of my feet. 

The Redhead is named after the island pictured behind him. It was pretty cool for him to see this again as a teenager. He was 4 years old the last time we were here.

S'up. That's my island. 

Higher. 

And higher. 

Still higher. 

We had to stop and rest way more frequently than I remember having to rest before.

That water bottle is just about empty. 

Another rest? Really?

The view left them speechless at times. Thankfully.

And do you know what I noticed as we hiked higher and higher? The Redhead and Thing 2 were smiling bigger and bigger.

The rarely seen smile from a teenage boy.

A genuine smile!

At this point, we were out of water. We had one bottle each and it was gone by the time we were halfway there. But we kept on going.

Those little white specks are birds. We're higher than the birds!

When you reach the ridge, you can see over to the other side. That's Eyak Lake.

Awesome, ain't it?

And then you know you're close. The peak looks big and small at the same time. 

It's 2,480 feet. That's a mountain. I know it's not Mt. McKinley (North America's tallest mountain is 20,237 feet - also in Alaska), but it may as well have been for us. 

The peak of Mount Eyak. 

It gets very steep at the end. You can feel the weather when you're up that high. It gets windier. And colder. There were eagles flying around us. And right about that time The Redhead declared, "Yep. I'm good. I don't need to go any higher."

I was surprised. "What do you mean?"

"It's too cliff-y," he said.

He was right. It was much like the side of a cliff now that we were approaching the end. I tried to keep him excited.

"Come on! You've come too far to not go to the top! We'll just take one more rest and then finish. At the end, there are ropes bolted in that you use to climb to the peak! You can do it!"

While we rested one last time, we watched as a hiker came from below us at a brisk pace. Way brisker than ours. Then I realized I knew her. The boys couldn't believe it. "Really Mom? On top of a mountain? You even know someone on top of a mountain?"

My old friend sat and rested with us a while before continuing on to the peak. She was fast - leaving us far behind in minutes. At this point, I realized how foolish I'd been to just take off on a difficult hike that I hadn't done in over 10 years. I accepted how out of shape I was but I still wanted to reach the top. So I kept putting one foot in front of the other.

Until I got to the first rope.

Doesn't that bolt seem rusty?

Rather than be reassured that I had something to hold on to, I began focusing on the fact that it was so steep that I needed something to hold on to. I watched my friend reach the summit. Thing 2 was right behind her, hand over hand on the first and then the second rope. I didn't give myself time to think. I just kept going. The Redhead was right behind me.

That is a very worried look on his face.

And then I saw the second rope and the steep rocks beneath it.

Oh dear God what have I gotten myself into?

Some part of me began pleading with the other parts of me to TURN BACK. My friend was already on her way back down. Thing 2 was waiting at the top of the second rope. The Redhead suddenly announced, "I'm done. I'll wait for y'all right here." And I knew he meant it.

I looked around to my left and thought another route without the rope looked easier. This demonstrates how stressed I was - obviously not thinking clearly. After conferring with my friend, I went for it. As I picked my way gingerly along the lesser-used path, rocks slid beneath my feet and kept right on sliding into what seemed an abyss - where I pictured my body going next. And that's when my knees started shaking and my heart started pounding and I looked up at my friend - this friend from a decade before who was just as fit as she had ever been - and I said, "I think I'm done. I can't do it. Fuck."

And do you know what she said? "Well, then, you should stop. Because this is where most people fall."

HOLY SHIT.

And she's a nurse at the local hospital, so she would know.

And do you know what she said next? "Do you mind if I take Thing 2 to the top while you make your way back down?"

If I hadn't been busy hanging on to the side of a mountain, I would have hugged her. Instead I just said, "That would be great. Thanks."

At that moment, I wanted to cry and not turn around and figure out how I was going to get back down the lesser-used path with the rock slide and back down the first rope and coach The Redhead back down as well. But I couldn't fall apart because it was just me and Aquaman wasn't there to talk calmly to me and The Redhead was already scared and Thing 2 was well taken care of and going up to the summit like a billy goat. So I held it together and somehow we made it back down to the relative safety of the ridge. My dear friend returned with Thing 2 and then motored down the mountain just as quickly as she had come up.

The Redhead may never trust me again.

The hike down was no picnic. We were exhausted and it was steep. My knees and thighs protested each step. We had all rubbed blisters on our feet. We had no water. I knew that I had to make noise to ward off bears but I was in no mood for singing or talking. So I chanted. "Mud. Rocks. Steep. Bullshit." Over and over. Then I began to sing, "Somebody bring me a wheelchair or a Coast Guard helicopter rescue and a Diet Dr. Pepper!" Then I laughed maniacally.

These rocks are pokey. And it's steep. Bullshit.

We had to rest on the way down, too. 

Just to be clear: I never said I wanted to hike a mountain, Mom.

We might have been delirious at this point.

I was so irritated and angry and just wanted it to be over. I couldn't believe that I had panicked when I was so close to finishing. I had taken those very same steps many times before - even led other people up the path - but this time I had absolutely freaked out. No doubt about it. The hike up had taken us 4 hours. It took us another 2 hours to make it back down to the parking lot. During those 2 hours, I promised myself that I would never hike a mountain again.

Right after I took ibuprofen and crawled into bed that night, the friend that had so graciously taken Thing 2 to the top called and asked me if we'd seen the bear on the way down. She had come upon one that couldn't be bothered to stop eating berries, despite a human's presence. I guess my horrible chanting and singing had worked.

The next day, I slept until noon just like the boys. When Thing 2 showed me the pictures he had taken at the top, that's when I knew that it had been worth it. My failure had not lessened his experience - in fact, it made it even more special because he'd been the only one in our little party to reach the summit.

The obligatory selfie. Thing 2 and his Fearless Guide.

Looking towards Eyak Lake and the Copper River Delta.

On Top of the World!

And that is a pretty cool thing. But I'm still never climbing another mountain.  

So This is What Panic Feels Like

The Redhead and Second Favorite Uncle hanging out in London.

I thought I would be writing about how The Redhead went to London with Favorite Uncle and Second Favorite Uncle and had a fabulous time. But I'm not.

He did, of course, have a fabulous time. From what I can gather (and that comes in bursts of information at random times because that's how teenage boys communicate) he saw the Tower of London, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, and some castle. He took the tube, went on a river tour, and stayed in a flat. He sampled every British candy bar that exists, it sounds like, and is particularly fond of something called the Wispa. The Uncles took him to see numerous theater productions, most of which he slept through, but seemed to appreciate all the same. But I have trouble focusing on these travel tales because it is all such white noise for me compared to the fact that he had a severe allergic reaction and I wasn't there.

I was nervous sending him on his first trip out of the country without us. (To complicate matters, Aquaman left the day before for Alaska where he'll be commercial fishing for the whole summer with limited communication. But that's a whole other post.) We checked and double-checked that he had his Medic-Alert bracelet on his wrist (I would have glued it there if I could have), that Benadryl was stashed in various spots that he could get to easily, and that he had his Epi-Pen and inhaler, just in case. He had instructions to parse out 2 Benadryl each to The Uncles so that if he somehow managed to screw up and forget his, he would still be covered in an emergency. The Uncles are familiar with his food allergies - his most serious ones are to all nuts and fish. They've watched him grow up and seen us navigate the world with dietary restrictions. Favorite Uncle was our nanny one summer when we lived in Alaska and fed, diapered, bathed, and cared for all three boys like a pro. I couldn't have asked for better circumstances under which to have The Redhead venture beyond America's borders.

The Redhead goes International!

This trip was a gift from The Uncles for The Redhead's 15th year. He is old enough to travel without parents and young enough to still want to travel with relatives. Aquaman and I didn't go abroad until we were 18, so he beat us by 3 years, which is some kind of awesome. I dropped him off at the airport on Friday and he flew to Chicago to meet The Uncles. They continued on to London, arriving Sunday. We had limited communication, but I got texts and pictures periodically when they had access to WiFi (international cellular charges can be brutal and are best avoided). A lot of the pictures are of The Redhead sleeping, everywhere they went. Which is probably more because he's a teenager than because of the 6 hour time change.

Teenagers sleep anywhere.

A rare moment of The Redhead awake and Favorite Uncle explaining something British.

Things were going well. I had worried for nothing, as mothers do. Then, on the last day, I got this text from The Redhead around noon:

Guess who fed me cashews 

And the world stopped spinning.

My response?

Oh shit. Are you ok?

And I'm thinking he's GOT to be okay because he's texting me. But maybe it just happened. But still. He's texting. It can't be THAT bad, right?

He texted back that they were at an Indian restaurant and had explained his allergies to nuts and fish. They had all ordered the same thing, but The Redhead's was a smaller version. When the food came, The Uncles saw there was a particularly tasty mint coriander sauce missing from The Redhead's plate. So, naturally Second Favorite Uncle took a chip, dipped up some sauce and handed it to him. "You gotta try this!"

You can hold your breath at this point. I know I did. Like I said, I wasn't there. But here's what I've managed to piece together.

The sauce was definitely tasty. And then tingled the roof of The Redhead's mouth where it first made contact. And then his tongue felt funny. And then his throat felt tight.

"There was definitely something in that," he announced. "Yep. I'm allergic to something. Bad." He popped first one Benadryl, then another for good measure.

The Uncles were floored. "Are you sure it's not just spicy?" they asked.

I snorted at this part in the story. Amateurs. (Perhaps I have some built up resentment that all parents of allergic children have? Or maybe it's just bitter old me. But the fact is no one else really gets it - truly - until they've seen it in person.) This is how it happens. Innocently, as part of sharing a meal. We humans do it three times a day. It is a necessary part of life. And for someone with food allergies, this very act of existing involves inherent danger. And no one's to blame. No one is at fault. It is just reality that things can go from normal to life threatening in seconds.

"Nope. This is the real deal," The Redhead explained. After having to request water and drinking his soda to try and get some relief in his mouth, he announced that he would be throwing up. He made it down the stairs and opened the door to the bathroom and barfed everywhere. (This means he threw up all of the Benadryl he had just taken before it could work.) He had to stay down there for a while until he felt like he was done throwing up and could stand up and walk, during which time several men tried to come in the bathroom and were confronted with a slick of vomit. The Redhead finally made it back upstairs and The Uncles had interrogated the waiter and discovered that the sauce was intentionally left off of The Redhead's plate because it contained cashews.

So I abruptly stopped getting texts from The Redhead and instead got a picture of him sent by Second Favorite Uncle. I think the picture was meant to reassure me, but all I saw was my baby with a slightly swollen eye and lip, which happens during a severe reaction. So I began firing off texts to assess the situation and stationed myself in front of my laptop to quickly refresh myself on the stages of allergic reactions to cashews. Here's a sample of some of the texts flying back and forth between me and Second Favorite Uncle:

Me: 

OMG

Did this just happen?

Has he taken Benadryl?

SFU: (I think it's funny that Second Favorite Uncle's initials contain FU)

Yes

He took it

He's ok

Me:

Is he drooling

Or having trouble breathing

SFU:

And we will watch him closely...try not to worry

Me:

Did his eyes swell

SFU:

He is fine

No

To all 3

I promise I will tell u if he has any trouble

Me:

How long has it been since he took a bite

SFU:

15 mins

Me:

And about 15 min since Benadryl?

SFU:

He just threw up but he is not having trouble breathing

Me:

OMG

SFU:

Yes he took it right away 

Me:

Good that he threw up

SFU:

His eyes are not swelling

Me:

Tongue?

Any hives

SFU:

Nope

Nope

Me:

Good

SFU:

He is moving around just fine

Me:

He is probably freaked out

He may have stomach ache later and diarrhea.

And be very tired.

15-20 minutes is usually the time frame for major reaction so if passed that good

SFU:

It has

Me:

But watch him for next 24 hours. I have heard of secondary reactions later. 

SFU:

He is already joking around again.

Me:

Ok. Take care of my redhead. He's the only one I've got.

Be ready if things get worse. Use the epipen and get to an er if it isn't getting better.

And during the time that I'm texting, I'm searching Google for things like "stages of anaphylaxis" and getting images like this:

Wikipedia image. Creative Commons.
Serious shit, alright? 

Probably not the most reassuring image. I was also looking up cashew allergies and finding articles that proclaim cashews cause the most severe reactions, are worse than those to peanut, and strongly related to anaphylaxis. (This New York Times article about radical treatments for severe food allergies only made me feel worse, but in good company with other parents.) Of course I know all of this already. The Redhead's worst reaction ever was to a cashew nut disguised under a layer of chocolate on Halloween when he was a wee toddler. I am quite familiar with all of the horrors. And I couldn't stop myself from looking it up. And you know what else I looked up? The distance from Dallas to London. 

How bout they just say, "A long fucking way, Momma."?

4,745 miles, folks.  

I hadn't looked it up until that moment. 

And that's when I fell apart. 

Tears came along with the terror of the realization that I could do nothing for my child. Things were beyond my control, out of my hands. I was crying so much that I had to wipe away the tears to be able to focus on the goddamn texts I was sending and receiving. I felt compelled to send The Redhead a text telling him that I loved him.

I felt sick to my stomach. Then I just gave over to it and sobbed, my head in my hands on the desk. 

As I surrendered to helplessness, the desperation I felt reminded me of a book I had just finished reading. Mary Karr's memoir Lit details her battle with alcoholism and spirituality and her finally giving in to praying. A pivotal moment for her was when she got down on her knees in complete agony to pray for the first time. I understand this resistance. And in that moment, I dropped to my knees on the floor beside the desk and whispered, "Please don't take him, God. Please don't. Not now. Not like this. Don't do it. Please. I'm begging." 

I felt worse. Uttering the words "take him" made me feel like I was opening that possibility up to the universe. I jumped up, ran to my bed, and got back down on my knees with a new request. "Please, God, protect him. Send a cloud of goodness around him that nothing can penetrate." I visualized this cloak of healing and recovery, bathing him in light. "Protect him. Protect him. Protect him," I chanted. And that made me feel better. But I kept right on crying.  

The Uncles and The Redhead had to leave WiFi en route to their next destination, another theater. But Second Favorite Uncle left the theater to text me that everything was okay and to try not to worry. They were able to FaceTime with me later so that I could lay eyes on The Redhead, who looked exhausted. He had slept through another theater performance after eating an entire bag of malted milk balls. This made me cringe. I wanted him to eat nothing but plain rice until he got back to me. 

The next afternoon, he was back. I had to banish fears of him having a secondary reaction while they were on the flight from London to Chicago. I was able to breathe again when The Uncles texted that they were back stateside and that all parties were alive and well, but I didn't relax until he was safely in the passenger seat of my car at the airport in Dallas. He then gave me a blow-by-blow account of the whole episode and filled in some of the details - like the part where he took 2 more Benadryl after throwing up the first 2. That might be why he slept through the theater. Just a guess. But it may have saved his life. 

And it's the life taking/life saving part that gets me. All parents worry. I know that. But I have a very legitimate reason to worry. Food allergies mean that something your child eats can kill them. It's just that simple. Which makes parenting just that complicated.

So I'm extra grateful that The Redhead returned safely and he had this amazing international experience at the tender age of 15 thanks to two pretty amazing, generous, and caring individuals who also happen to be his uncles. He's back to his old self. After a short "honeymoon" period wherein he sweetly shared his British candy bars with his brothers, he's back to fighting with them nonstop. He hasn't showered since he came back to America. That sounds really dramatic, doesn't it? It's the reality of living with a teenage boy. And I know how lucky I am to experience it.  

The Redhead and Me.
I look squirrely. With good reason.

Aquaman and his Aquanauts

We had a grand adventure this weekend. So grand, in fact, that it took me a few days after returning to be up for posting anything about it. I can now report that The Redhead, Thing 1, and Thing 2 are certified SCUBA divers. A milestone. Aquaman and I are so very proud.

Aquaman and his Aquanauts

When you're married to a marine biologist, SCUBA diving is required. Aquaman and I spent our honeymoon diving in Belize. The first vacation we ever took together was to go diving in Cozumel. 

A lot has changed since I was certified in 1992. I took SCUBA for a P.E. credit at Texas A&M. Aquaman was one of the Divemasters for the class. I might have been his favorite student. I haven't been diving in many years, so I was a little nervous about this trip. But the location, Balmorhea State Park, is perfect for a nervous diver. It is the world's largest spring-fed swimming pool and has amazingly clear water. San Solomon Springs is the source of this magic in the middle of the Texas desert.  

Because Aquaman took the lead on this certification business for the boys, they just assumed that I was clueless about the sport. And it's a fair assumption. I have certainly demonstrated my ineptitude concerning sailing. They remind me of this often, especially now that they are taking sailing classes (but that's another topic for another post). 

As the time for this trip approached, the boys had lots of questions - all of which they directed at Aquaman - considering me useless. 

"What will they make us do on our checkout dive?"

"Will we have to clear our masks?"

"Will we get to buddy breathe?"

I realized that of course these children o'mine had never seen me dive - how could I dive when someone had to be watching them???? My most recent dives (still several years ago when we lived on the Texas coast) involved getting babysitters for their much younger selves or farming them out on playdates so that I could get away for a few hours with Aquaman offshore. 

So it was with much surprise that the boys reacted when Aquaman casually mentioned that I had been "narked" while diving at depths over 120 feet in Belize's Blue Hole. Thing 1 and Thing 2 both asked, "What?" simultaneously. Incredulously. The Redhead looked at me and said, "Wait. You've been diving that deep?" 

So sweet. 

"Yep," I said proudly, puffing out my chest a little at my seat at the dining table. Finally...some respect!

"Wow. Y'all used to be cool."

Cue the deflate button.

Nothing like a comment from a teenager to keep you humble. 

Still, the boys were pretty impressed when I produced my dive card. Mostly because it's over 20 years old.

1992 was a very long time ago...

And I must provide more proof of my previously cool life.

That's called a "giant stride" entry, fellas.

Cozumel. 1993.

So glamorous. Belize. Honeymoon. 1996.

Aquaman makes it look easy. Belize. 1996.

Balmorhea (pronounced Bal-mor-ay) is no easy day trip from the metroplex - nor from anywhere, really. Even though we pulled the boys out of school early on Friday, we still didn't get on the road until 4:00 p.m. and didn't make it there until almost 1:00 a.m. You know what never got old? Listening to the navigation app periodically announce that we were however-many miles from Bal-mor-ee-ah (like diarrhea). Snorts and chuckles all around. Every. Time. 

We fell into bed and were shocked the next morning to look out the window and see the Davis Mountains. We were oblivious to their presence driving in the dark. 

The view from our room.

You can camp or stay in one of the really cool motel rooms, built by the Civilian Conservation Corps. I highly recommend staying in the rooms. Known as San Solomon Springs Courts, they are adobe-style and were built in the 1930s. Totally worth it.

Our suite.

Of course, our accommodations were still not adequate for The Wrecking Crew, who abhor sharing a bed. There were 3 queen-size beds in our suite. This was not enough. Thing 1 refused to share a bed with anyone and instead announced he would sleep on the floor. The concrete floor.

"You shared a womb for 9 months! You can't share a bed for two nights?" I screeched.

"I don't remember that! It doesn't count!" The boy was not giving in.

Aquaman took pity on him and helped him make a pallet in the closet. Seriously. That's where he slept.

Nincompoop accommodations.

But on to the diving. 

The main length of the pool.

The elusive Thing 1. Rarely photographed.

Parents thrilled to have made the drive without killing anyone.

Things went pretty smoothly. Other students in the class had to cancel at the last minute, so the boys ended up being the only ones on the checkout dive with three instructors. That's known as man-on-man defense in my book. A preferred strategy.

Getting the wetsuit on is your first challenge.

The zipper goes in the back, son.

I like to call this one "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Diver."

Aquaman and Thing 2.

Aquaman and Thing 1.

The one who shivers most is out first.

Aquanaut 1.

Aquanaut 2.

The original Aqualad.

As a parent, I am sometimes taken aback by how small our children still are. We so often fixate on how big they are getting - remarking that we can't believe they're teenagers or that they've already grown out of whatever clothes we bought them two months ago. But sometimes? I am struck by how small they still are. This picture of Thing 2 captures that. He is concentrating on his tank and regulator and properly detaching one from the other. But you know what I see? His little body. His little sunburned hands. How young he still is.

Little man.

Okay, okay. No crying!

Balmorhea is a special place. Aquaman and I were here once before in 1995 - recently engaged, still in graduate school. His major professor at Texas A&M and other grad students were involved in research with the two endangered species of fish that exist in the artesian springs: the Comanche Springs pupfish and the Pecos gambusia. We camped all around this area and I read Barbara Kingsolver's Animal Dreams while the rest of them did fishy things. This trip made me think of Kingsolver and her fantastic work. I fell in love with her on this trip and have read everything she has written since. It seemed fitting, then, that we returned here almost 20 years later with our own three children.

A nice little surprise was renting from the local diveshop, Funky Li'l Diveshop. It just so happens that it's Aggie owned and operated. Whoop!

An Aggie business.

It was a pleasure doing business here. The owner is friendly, knowledgeable, and enthusiastic about diving. But perhaps most memorable was his Aggie ring. Take a look.

The most well-loved Aggie ring I've ever seen.

That's a ring, my friends. He never takes it off. Class of '76. I have seen Aggie rings that have a bit of wear, rounded and polished here and there. They are typical on old Ags in their 80s. Not a young'un like Darrel here. I had to document it. With his permission, of course. 

Darrel Rhyne, Owner - Funky Li'l Diveshop. Proud Aggie.

The drive back was torture and began with Aquaman getting a speeding ticket just before we cleared the Balmorhea city limits. Mind your speed if you ever go out to these parts. It's pretty flat - just you and the tumbleweeds (yes, we saw lots) so it's easy to go a lot faster than you think you are. This was ironic - Aquaman never speeds and I often complain about his Grandpa-esque driving habits. I will never complain again.  

After a whirlwind 48 hours, we have 3 certified SCUBA divers to call our very own. My dad would have referred to this as the Aggie Navy. An apt description, I'd say. 

Aggie Navy.