The "Daily Grind"

After our first night at the Islands, in our glorious Villa (that doesn't sound too smug, does it?) we settled into a pretty regular routine for the rest of the vacation that went something like this:

Wake up, take a deep breath and revel in the fact that you're on vacation and temporarily living in a place with a postcard, "wish you were here," 180 view. Wander to the kitchen as you slowly wake up, socialize with the urban-vacation-family and eat whatever deliciousness Hooper decided to feed us that particular morning. Next we would decide which of the several beaches available to us, change into our swim suits, load up the two Jeeps with snorkel and beach gear and head out. After a brief drive, we'd set up camp at our beach for the day, lube up on the suntan lotion, and sun ourselves silly. Seeing as most of us had at least a minor case of ADD, either a football or frisbee would soon make an appearance or we would amuse ourselves with the sand (read: bury people in it). Next would come our daily snorkel adventure, followed by lunch. Depending on the day, from here we would either move to the next beach, or head home for the evening. Once home, we made use of the bitchin' outdoor showers (if you live somewhere warm, it is SO the way to go), and got "fancy" for the evening (read: put real clothes on). Each night we made dinner in and enjoyed a family-style meal. Soon after, the card playing and dessert eating would begin. Usually after a few rounds of Rook (aka: Oh, Hell) and rum-soaked beverages, half of us would turn-in for the night while others stayed up and enjoyed the night sky and quality conversation. Eventually we'd all call it a night and wake up the next morning just to do it all over again.

It was pretty fantastic really. The only difference was that on the last day, we rented a boat. Hello British Virgin Islands!

Linen Pants & Cuban Cigars

As some of you may or may not know, on every vacation to Miami, we always have a "Linen Pant Night." I won't go into that story right now, but suffice it to say, each year we look forward to dressing up in our linen duds, taking several pictures, and pretty much thinking we're the coolest thing since sliced bread. (See picture "Come-et-e-yay-ha!" on sidebar for Linen Pant Night 2007.)

So our second night of vacation in the Islands was themed "Havana Nights," not only as a tie-in for the linen pants, but also for an evening of piña coladas, tacos, and an after dinner Cuban cigar. That's right baby, I said Cuban. As the unofficial host, Andy bought a round for each of us. I'd never smoked a cigar before, so I figured, Why not?


Brett was kind enough to take me under his wing and show me how to do it up right. After lighting my cigar for me, he first showed me how to take a puff, but not inhale (otherwise I'd be coughing and choking everywhere). Seemed easy enough, so soon I was ready for my next lesson: how to let the smoke roll out of my mouth (rather than just blowing it out). If you can do it right, it looks pretty sweet. This one took a little more practice, but I think I got the hang of it (sort of). Soon I was holding the cigar between my teeth like a pro and flicking the ash off the end like I'd been doing it my whole life. (Okay, so I can't actually pull that off yet, but I like to pretend). Toward the end of my cigar, I was brave enough to try to inhale (I know, scandalous!) and after a wee bit of sputtering, I managed a few small inhales and earned my very first smoking buzz. I thought it was pretty hilarious.

So I think I'm officially one of the boys now. (But maybe not.)

We HAVE arrived - UPDATE!!

So it turns out that when our friends Brett and Andy told us we would be spending our annual vacation with our Floridian friends in the Virgin Island on St. Thomas - it was only half true.

We began our travel on Tuesday evening with a pit-stop at the Poux Palace for a little farewell dinner with Papa Poux himself (pasta with chicken in red sauce - a family classic). From there we headed to SeaTac to board our red-eye flight bound for Miami. Of course there was the token kid who was freaking out and screaming before the flight and yes, she sat directly in front of us. After a long sleepless flight, we arrived in Miami. One haphazard nap, a scrambled egg sandwich, and two games of pinochle later, we were back on a plane and headed toward the islands.

We arrived without event and I was surprised to see just how tropical the Virgin Islands were. We had landed in what I can only describe as a deep bowl and everywhere I looked it was lush with vegetation. The air was thick and hot and I was immediately soaked in my NW clothes, but mostly I was just glad to finally be there. We quickly picked up our luggage and crammed 7 people and their stuff into two jeeps and braved driving on the left side of the road. Eke!

As we twisted and turned our way through the city, my first impression of the Islands was that it was like a hybrid of Hawaii and Mexico. The landscape was ripe with green palm trees, low hanging coconuts, and fruit stands. The air was warm and dense and cardboard shanty towns littered the narrow, poorly maintained roads. After winding and twisting our way through the rolling topography of the island, we eventually pulled into a ferry terminal. That's right, we were island hopping. Turns out our hosts had managed to pull a fast one on us and we would be staying on the beautiful island of St. John. St. Thomas was merely our point of entry, a ruse if you will.

A brief ferry ride and a few twists and turns later and we pulled up to what I can only describe as a personal luxury complex. Complete with two small "buildings", our own mini-pool, four suite/rooms, personal out-door showers with a view and wrap around porches - we had finally arrived. The view is nothing short of breath-taking, not to mention immense. We are governors of our own mini-district. Rulers of our dominion, Kings and Queens of our own personal castle. After reveling in the view for several minutes, I let out a deep breath: I'm on vacation; we have arrived.

Check out this quick video for a tour of our Villa in St. John:

Mazatlan Top 10

10. Mark & Monica losing their luggage
9. Open air taxis!
8. Monica & Chris doing the "Mexican Hat Dance"
7. Mark wearing Pete's "red" trunks all week
6. Pete realizing his "red trunks" should be retired
5. Teaching Luis the meaning of simmer
4. Spin classes with "Eddie" and Amy
3. The nightly card game
2. "Poncho" on Fiesta Night
1. The Time-Share Schpeal! (Oh wait, no. That's not right...)

A Little Family Vacay

Well I'm a little late (okay, so it's been almost 3 weeks), but here is my official report on the Stratton/Champoux Brady Bunch Family Vacation to Mazatlan (we just called it "vacation" for short): it was the best guacamole, strongest sun, and biggest pool I've ever eaten, experienced and seen (respectively, of course).

We stayed at Pueblo Bonito Emerald Bay (not to be confused with Pueblo Bonito...). It's a time-share hotel on the beach complete with pools, swim-up bars, a spa, exercise classes - and pretty much anything else you could want on vacation. (Including daily trivia games, dance classes, ping pong tournaments - it was kind of like that big hotel in Dirty Dancing...you know the one I mean.) And as if all this weren't enough, our amazing parents were footing the bill for our stay. The deal was, if we flew ourselves out there, they would take care of the rest. There is only one answer to a proposition like that: heck yeah man!

I pretty much spent the first 7 of our 8 days in Mexico in my swimsuit, with a book in my hand (The Count of Monte Cristo), and within 10 feet of the pool/swim-up bar & grill. Jean-Louis (the poolside waiter) became our new best friend and happy hour our favorite time of day (you get double of everything you order - it was great!). Pretty much every day went like this: wake up, maybe eat some room-service breakfast, think about working out, wander down to the pool, alternate between a) reading, b) dipping in the pool, or c) eating. Then in the early evening, we'd head back to the room to shower and "get ready" for the day (read: dinner), venture into town for dinner (thanks to Chris our veteran international traveler we had a new, local, non-tourist-y venue each night - it was great!), then after completely stuffing ourselves on some seriously delicious cuisine, we would head back to the room for an evening round of cards and dessert, and then resign ourselves to bed. Yeah, it was pretty rough.

The last day I actually ventured out with my sisters (both "bonus" and in-law) to the market. We spend the better part of an afternoon haggling with the locals, checking out some pig heads, and buying souvenirs. We even utilized public transit for the trip. For a whopping 7 pesos (that's about 70¢ to us) we acquainted ourselves with the local mode of transport and saw a glimpse of the real Mexico. It was a great little adventure to cap off our trip.

All in all the tasty food, the free time to do whatever I pleased, and the hours in the sun were all exactly what I needed, but mostly I just enjoyed being with my family. We don't live far apart, but we don't live close either. Real life seems to get in the way of quality time all too often. I was thankful for the opportunity to just be with them. Dad and Jane - I don't think I can thank you enough for the gift you've given all of us. Thank you for teaching me generosity by first demonstrating it. I'm proud to call you parents.

Future Hall-of-Famers

Last weekend while I was home for Mother's Day, I had the opportunity to put in some quality time with my two nephews. Man am I proud of those guys! Every time I come home, I can't believe how big they are, how smart they are, and what super cool little people they're becoming!!

Austin has just turned 10 and already has his baseball career off to a great start. Not only did he do a great job pitching in a game the previous week I visited, but he also told me this week that his coach said he has the most hits on the team!! My heart was beaming. I'm sure he'll be the next Edgar Martinez (although, hopefully he'll be a little faster than 'Gar!)

We also firmed up our plans for summer 2014. This is the summer Austin will be 16 and he and I (and Mark, if we decide he can come...) will be hitting the road to attend a game at every MLB ballpark. Priceless. (Remember that old Mastercard commercial? That might be where I got the idea...) It's possible we'll only hit up the West Coast our first time out, but you get the idea. I honestly don't know who is more excited: me or Austin.

Now Gracen may only be 1 point 5 years old, but he's not one to be left out of the fun (and dang if he's not the cutest kid). I'm amazed at the new tricks he comes up with every time I'm home. From learning sign language, to being obsessed with turning the vacuum on, to showing me how a catcher stands, to high and low fives...it's so cool. And if you think he's not watching everything his older brother is doing - think again. Check out this little video...the kid learned to swing a bat, and he's not too shabby.

Thanks Mark and Monica for so generously sharing your family with me - I couldn't be a more proud Auntie or God Mother!!

"Mommies Are Like Flannel"

You know what I mean, right? They're comforting in the most real way. They're always good for a snuggle, (especially when you're feeling a little bummy) and when something is wrong in the world, it's the first place you want to go. Or at least it always has been for me, which is exactly why when I was about 11 years old I announced this revelation to my mom. She laughed at me good-naturedly, gave me a hug (another wonderful piece of motherly-goodness), and agreed: yes, mommies are definitely like flannel.

I may be 26 and a half, but my sentiments haven't changed. God certainly knew what he was doing when he created mommies, and I couldn't be more thankful for mine.

(Happy Mother's Day Mom! You're the best.)

Haggen to Haggen

The 5k racing season is well underway and last weekend Kristi and I ran our favorite Bellingham race: the Haggen to Haggen. I mean, not only do you get the normal perks of a 5k (endorphins, a little competition, and the feeling of accomplishment) but this race also has an unbelievable amount of loot at the end. Most races provide water or some form of nutritious beverage, but at the Haggen to Haggen, you basically get to grocery shop your way through enough food for breakfast AND lunch immediately after crossing the finish line. It's the best. We came prepared with plastic bags this year - we weren't messing around. After we had sufficiently pillaged the free goods, we caught the free shuttle back to the start line to pick up the car. Not only do you get to exercise, but then you get to stuff your face with free food AND be lazy on the way home.

Man I love Bellingham.

No Pho on the First Date

So for lunch today, Danielle and I went on an adventure to try the new Vietnamese place in Bakerview Square called Soy slkdjf (I can't actually remember the name now). Our mission: to check out the Pho. Danielle's boyfriend is super into the Pho - and I'd only had it once before, so I was up for something new. But to our dismay when we got there, it was inexplicably closed. So we high-tailed it out of there hungry and disappointed and set about meandering for a new lunch destination (not a good idea on the Guide-ish at lunch time).

We decided to cut through the Cost Cutter/Christ the King parking lot when lo and behold - another Pho joint! Woo hoo! Pho Ly - here we come. (Incidentally we didn't know how to pronounce the name of this new find, but it did incite a round of repeating "Pho Ly, Pho Ly" to the tune of Wooly Bulley). Despite the parking lot being super crowded and adhering to the driving laws of London, we avoiding being squeezed out of existence by a semi (or semme, if you're Canadian, eh?), dodged an oblivious Hyundai and zipped into a spot directly in front of the door.

We made our way in and the place was packed - a good sign. After we were seated and ordered (Beef for Danielle, Hot & Spicy for me), she explained how it was necessary to flip the noodles over the meat so that the broth would cook the meat as it sat in the bowl. Cooool. Then she showed me her ingenious eating technique: use the chopsticks to put the noodles in your spoon, then dunk it for some broth and top 'er off with a piece of meat - and enjoy! It actually worked really well. I had minimal residual splash-back from my broth - I was quite pleased. However, I did notice that it was difficult to avoid shoving huge quantities of food in my mouth at a time (Have you seen those spoons?! They're HUGE!). Add to that the imminent danger of the splash factor, and we concluded: great eats, but no good for a first date. It's just not possible to look demure and lady-like while cramming all that goodness in. Personally, I'd rather save that for later on...like maybe the second date.

Hear No Evil, Peak No Evil...Oh Wait.

Champoux Family Cribbage Tournament

So we play a little cards in my family. Poker, Pinochle, Pitch, Hearts, O Hell, Cribbage - we play 'em all. In fact, you could almost say that playing cards is a family tradition - it's a part of our heritage, it's who we are. My dad is one of six siblings who grew up on a hop farm in the Yakima Valley and the culture of cards was passed down from my Gramma and Grampa to each and every one of them. There are 15 of us grandkids and every one of us is a card player. We all know what the river card is, that a bicycle wins both the high and the low, that a 19 point cribbage hand is impossible, and that there is nothing as sweet as the double run. We also know you don't cut the deck in crib, you don't lead trump on the first hand (because that's not how they do it in Moxee), and that even though Gramma threatened to shark your points, she never did. She just looked at you with a twinkle in her eye and said, "Count 'em again."

Last May, we lost Gramma almost 20 years to the day after we'd said good-bye to Grampa and with her a legacy of great card playing passed on - but it was not to be forgotten. We were determined about that. So in order to pay homage to a true matriarch (and patriarch!) of Champoux card playing, we held the first annual Champoux Family Cribbage Tournament.


Twenty of us gathered together from near and far to take place in the memorial competition. We were divided into four pools with five players each. We played each person in our pool round robin in order to get a seeded ranking. The bottom player from each pool was eliminated from the competition (aww), leaving 16 players going into the Championship. From there it would progress like a regular NCAA Championship. The Top 8 players would walk away with their very own shaker of Deccio's Seasoning Salt (aka Johnny's for those of you west of the mountains), courtesy of Uncle Joe as well as a picture with our event host and MC, Mark. The Top 4 players would not only get the aforementioned SWAG, but a fancy wood cribbage set and matching deck of cards, to boot (thanks TC!). When the one final player emerges victorious - and undefeated, he or she will walk away with the commemorative plaque and bragging rights for one year's time.

I entered my pool play nervous, but excited. My first game was against Shawn - not a Champoux by blood, but a worthy adversary. It was a slow two-point-at-a-time crawl for both of us, but in the end, I beat him out. One win under my belt felt pretty good. I matched up with Pete next (again, not a Champoux by blood, but as I found out - a great cribbage player). Sadly I encountered my first loss. I was 1-1 heading into my third game. Jane and I went head-to-head and soon I was back to a winning record. My last pool play game was with Katy Jo and unfortunately I came up short. I was getting too many 6 point hands and 2 point cribs. That just wasn't going to cut it. Fortunately my 2-2 record made me the #3 seed in my pool. It was time to move on to the Championship and (hopefully) leave my losses and crappy crib hands behind.

The Championship was single elimination, but each round was best of three. So that meant that for each match, a player had to take 2 out of 3, otherwise it was Elimination City. Monica was my first round match and despite being a brand new player, she was on a hot streak. I had barely eked out my two wins already (praise the Lord for pegging!), so I was a bit weary. I wanted to make it past the first round, but if I was going to lose, I'd be happy to go down for the sake of my sister-in-law's glory. First game out, I fell victim to the hot streak. The second game was pretty even but I managed to squeak out a win. With one game a piece, the third game was neck-and-neck from the very beginning. As we turned the final corner and began the home stretch, Monica was only about ten points from going out. It was a few too many to peg out, but certainly she would go out with the hand. I was a few points further behind, but had the advantage of counting my hand first. It would all come down to my hand. As fortune would have it, I managed enough points between pegging and my hand to go out and steal the first round win from Monica. In all honesty, I had already consigned myself to the loss and was pleasantly surprised to find myself in round two.

Next up was my Aunt Barb. My match with Monica had taken a while, so she was ready to play. We sat down and immediately I knew it was not going to be good. Sure enough, she jumped out to an early lead. My streak of zero and two point cribs had returned and weren't helping my cause. I soon realized that I had to race to the skunk line before Barb won the game. If she skunked me, I'd be eliminated (a skunk counts for two wins). I'd never wanted to lose a game so much in my life. A loss I could take - I would live to play another game - but a skunk! I had just fought to stay alive in the previous round, I couldn't go down so quickly now! Again I was in a situation where I would count before my opponent. It was the only thing between me and Elimination. As I picked up my hand, I was pleased to see a double-card run in my hand, 6-6-5-4. That would definitely get me across the skunk line, I began to breathe a little easier. We cut the deck for the fifth card...and it was a 6. My hand just sky-rocketed to 24 points! I pegged across the skunk line then zipped ahead of my aunt to come within 3 points of winning. Just like that (!) I had gone from near elimination to possibly stealing the game! If Barb had a small hand, I could actually come back and win it. Unfortunately for me, she had enough points to go out and I took the loss. Despite the roller-coaster, I was happy. That hand was a turning point for me, I could feel it: the momentum was finally with me. A small curl of excitement began to come to life in my stomach. I was gonna win. I just knew it. The next game was a quick one (my gut is never wrong). I skunked my Aunt Barb and stole the victory from her in one fail swoop.

Round 3 brought me back to the table with Pete again. I was already 0-1 on the day with him, but I was bolstered by the recent turn of events and went into the round with checked confidence. Though I tried repeatedly to dupe him into pegging traps, he was too sharp and avoided every one (just play your face card on my 11, would ya?). Despite my failed attempts I manged to take two games from him and suddenly found myself with a seat in the Championship round. (How had that happened?) After hours of playing, it had come down to me and Billy Meyer III.

As we sat down to the final match, we did our best to ignore the hilarity (and slurring) coming from the O Hell card game a few feet away and do Gramma proud. With everything on the line, we cut for the first deal and got underway. I had been confident going into my match with Pete, but as I began playing with Billy I realized, neither one of us had lost a match all day - and it was about to end for one of us. This. Was. It.

Now, I think almost every family member can say they learned a thing or two from Gramma through the years, but as it happened Gramma was the one who taught me how to play cribbage. And I don't know if all the grandkids feel this way, but I've always felt that I had Gramma's luck flowing through my veins. It is the inexplicable feeling when you know you're going to win, despite what the score says. It's the tingling in your skin when the cards are being dealt and you can just tell it's going to be a good hand. It's the moment in the game when something invisible suddenly shifts and you know you're about to cream your opponent. It's a magical sixth sense and I know it's been passed on to me from Gramma herself.

It was over in two games. They were close games - not blow outs, but not nail-biters either. We finished at 5 minutes to midnight, making it about an 11 hour event. After four games of pool play, four rounds of gritty competition, 8 shakers of Deccios, 4 crib boards and endless Gos...I emerged victorious. I persevered through hot streaks, bad cribs, a near skunking and great competition all the way to the end and came out on top.

The title belongs to me. Thanks Gramma - this one is for you.

Me and Weed & Feed Don't Get Along

I do my best to be a good home owner. I try to bring the garbage cans in promptly so they're not sitting despondent and forlorn at the curb's edge. I do my best to take down the crooked, Charlie Brown-esk Christmas lights I've hung promptly after the holidays. And every spring I renew my commitment to myself to really, really stay on top of taking care of the yard this year.

(Now, this commitment is largely inspired by my great friend and neighbor, Dustin Terpening. If you don't know him, when it comes to lawn care, only one word comes to mind: meticulous. His front and back yard are incredible - definitely one of the best on the street. He's got plush green grass in the front so thick it's like carpet and fruit trees, a vegetable garden, and some kind of compost-y thing I don't understand in the back. Yeah. So when I say "inspired", I only kind of mean "am put to shame by his masterpiece and try to make my yard look decent".)

Each year it gets a little easier though - the lawn mower sputters and dies on me less often, I start pulling the weeds before they take over the yard - I even started getting fresh bark to spread over the flower beds to keep it all pretty. But no matter the efforts, darned if I can't keep the weeds and moss from taking over my lawn. No luxurious green carpet in my front yard folks. And it seems no amount of mowing it lessens the white-trashy feel it gets due to the high volume of weeds.

So this year, as I renewed my yard maintenance vow, I began by consulting my green-thumbed neighbor and decided to try my hand with a little Weed and Feed to tackle my front lawn woes. It seemed simple enough: buy the stuff, spread it evenly throughout the lawn and let it work it's mojo. Right. Got it. Step one seemed to go smooth enough. I bought a package that said "Weed & Feed" right on it. I brought it home and read the entire back label (like the good little girl I am) and proceeded to open the bag and carefully shake the contents out onto my lawn.

Now, if you're not familiar with Weed & Feed, it's basically a bunch of white pellets. They come out pretty quick and my intuition told me not to spread it too thick, so I did my best to spread it thinly and evenly over the yard. However, when the bag was about half empty, the contents significantly slowed down as they came out. And in fact, the opening became clogged with a big glob of what I can only describe as fertilizer encrusted poo. Huh, that was weird.

I continued to try and shake the rest of the bag out, but quickly discovered that there were only bigger, more severe cloggers coming down the pipeline. That's okay, I decided - I'll just crumble the poo-like substance in my hands and continue spreading it over the lawn. I did think it was a little weird I hadn't seen any of the faux poo in the first half of the contents, but perhaps it had just settled, no biggie. So I cheerily grabbed the first chunk of "poo" and attempted to crumble it in my hands and go about distributing it.

The thing is, this unidentified substance (which I was beginning to think really was poo) had the same clingy, slightly moist quality that poo can have and after I attempted to crumble it, it was unwilling to part with my hands. In fact, I was reduced to flinging the "poo" off my hands in the manner of sticky boogers. This really didn't work either (as it usually doesn't with boogers either) and was forced to wipe the "poo" onto the grass. Hmm. Seeing as I had several more large chunks of faux-poo left on the lawn, I didn't see that I really had much other choice than to repeat the crumble-fling-wipe maneuver to distribute the rest. At this point, I am now convinced this is NOT how Weed & Feed application is supposed to go. I am also beginning to recall a small portion of text from the packaging that mentioned something about animals being attracted to this particular "Weed & Feed" as it contains actual animal feces. Awesome. So I have some weird-o poop all over my hands that I am crumble/fling/wiping all over the grass at random intervals all in a vain attempt to improve the state of my front yard. Instead, I just basically crapped all over it. Gar, home ownership is rough I tell ya.

**Note: no, weed & feed is not supposed to be like that....I have no explanation other than that.