Boy, you've gotta carry that weight!

On Saturday we picked a "difficult" trail in the Kit Carson forest, just north of Taos, by the ski area. We loaded Calvin into his new backpack, and also stuffed the zippered area with water bottles, diapers and snacks (the whole shebang was probably close to 50 pounds). I carried the sandwiches.

The slope was steep, and as we wound our way up one switchback after another, Quinn started to huff and puff. "I'm going to have buns of steel after this," he declared.

On and on the trail went. The sandwiches I was carrying were starting to make me feel a little bit hungry. And I wanted to get at one of those water bottles that Quinn had. I suggested we take a break. "Great idea."

Was my athletic husband wheezing? After we ate, I said, "Here, I'll carry the backpack," and unzipped the backpack that was connected to the carrier.

"You knew that was detachable?"

"Yeah." I shrugged, and put on the little backpack.

"I'm gonna kill you."

Hummph. As if it's the first time I've heard that.