Since they rarely venture up to the Big City, Derek and I told my parents they must come up and spend the day with us so that we can golf together as a family (although we were missing one--our sis, Malarie). Sure it's supposed to be my dad's chance to pick whatever he wants to do, but since he's a good dad he lets us boss him around.
We had a great day, we golfed at Wing Point so that my airplane aficionado father could enjoy watching the jets take off and land at Salt Lake International.
[Update: I just realized the two pics above are actually from another golfing trip my bro & parents were on together. Somehow they ended up in my photos from this day, but since they're so cute I'm leaving them in anyway.]
I opted out of golfing myself, since, in my delicate condition I wasn't feeling up to playing 18 holes (actually, I was just being lazy but I've found that people are much more sympathetic if you blame things on being pregnant).
Instead I was Derek & Zach's cart companion. The three of us enjoyed speaking with accents, something that we always do whenever we're together although none of us are sure why. This day we alternated between "hillbilly" and "British" (we had to class it up a bit since we were on the course, you know) with an occasional bit of Irish brogue thrown in.
We also observed how much my brother and dad are alike. Ever since Derek was big enough to move around, he's always stood, walked and gestured exactly like my dad. Them' are some strong genes.
And lucky for us, he also inherited my dad's gift of telling stories and adding so much detail that we all feel like we were actually there witnessing his funny adventures. This explains why my stomach muscles hurt the next day even though I didn't do anything strenuous.
Laughing-related injuries are the best kind.