Pom Camp '26

Hey kids.

The state of Abby's packing where, according to her, she's 'finished.'

Abby, as you know, was bumped up to the Varsity Pom Team at Midland High last year (one of a small handful that was poached from the JV team at the end of her freshman year), and has been leaning hard into her pom stuff this last year even more than she used to. For the last few years, she's been attending the annual Pom Camps every July at Northwood University, staying in the Dubois dormitory alongside her teammates and various pom teams throughout the region, and spending her days drilling new pom routines, conditioning, and taking part in team-building activities that strengthen the varsity squad. 

My attempt at getting a pic of Abby after she was set up in her dorm room. 

This year's camp ran from Tuesday to Friday, and so with Kris at work the first day of the camp, Yours Truly dropped her off at the dorms and got her situated in her room. Then, each evening around 6:30pm, us parents would return to Northwood in order to watch Midland High - along with all of the other schools participating at the camp - perform the exact, same routine for judges to review (the varsity teams performed a certain routine, and then the middle school and JV teams performed a different one.) 

Abby roomed with Brooklyn this year, and this is their door.

Is it repetitive (and super boring) watching twelve different teams perform an identical routine to the same song? Absolutely. But as parents that's the sorta thing you signed up for when you decided to have kids - it's not like we're not going to watch our kid perform at a school function, c'mon.

So we had four evenings full of pom routines this week, and Abby (and all the other kids there) wore themselves out drilling day in and day out. I don't know how the hell they do it, practicing and performing from breakfast until the time they go to bed each night, then getting six hours of sleep and repeating the process all over again. But hell, whatever floats their boat, I guess - all the kids involved with this sport seem to love it.

I took like 99% of the pics and video clips below straight off Abby's phone, so I don't know the details with most of it, but I did my best to arrange them all in chronological order and give them some context for you. About the same as the last two years she's done this whole Pom Camp thing, we're just gonna take a stab at how her week looked sifting though the dozens of pics she took of her and her teammates throughout the week. I'm sure she could do a much better job at explaining all of this to you folks, but, like I've said before, I'm the only one who contributes to this blog anymore so you're stuck with my two cents here.

Enjoy. . .

Midland Varsity Pom, on Day 1 of Pom Camp - ready to get to work at practice.

The team's mascot (or pet, not sure what the culture here is), watching the team practice their High Kicks.

That chick in the black is the designated 'trainer' or 'staff member' from the camp (usually a recently-graduated varsity pommer from another school who works for the camp program), teaching the team the day's assigned routine at practice.

Each day the teams receive a new routine and they have to drill it all damn day, then perform it for the judges (and whatever families members show up) in the evening. Abby's second from left in this one.

Team huddle (or something.)

A pic of team, somewhere on campus (the seniors get to wear a sash throughout the week, I guess.)

We had to buy multiple 'spirit day' shirts for Abby, as we do every year when she attends this camp, which was not included in the camp's ridiculous registration fees. 

I don't have the patience to be a pom coach, I'd straight up murder some teenage girls over something like this.

At practice on Day 2 (I think.) Not sure what's up with this pedophile flag, here.

This must be Northwoods' indoor football or soccer complex (I didn't know they had one.)

The trainer leads the kids through a new routine.

Summoning dark spirits from the abysmal plains to aid them in their evening performance.

Midland High, performing their new routine for the judges and families.

Logan showed up on Day 2 and brought Abby flowers, so Abby asked if I'd take them home for her and put them in a vase of water so they wouldn't die in her dorm room. So I obviously looked pretty cool just standing around bored, holding flowers.

Logan and Abby, following the conclusion of the evening's routines.

These two are a couple of dorks.

No idea.

Abby, Nica, and Brooklyn, showing off their new pom camp sweatshirts (we paid $50 for hers, in case you were curious - she'll wear it twice, spill coffee on it, and never wear it again.)

This generation's new obsession with shitty point-and-shoot cameras is weird.

Another team huddle, I'm guessing on Day 3.

Or maybe Day 4, I don't know - they wear the same uniform for every evening performance.

(Abby is in the back row, on the left.)

Practicing the kick line again.

Day 4 Pom Routine

The bleachers they have here are absolute murder on one's back, so Erik and I got into the habit of bringing camping chairs and sitting off to the side. He wasn't able to show up on the last day of the camp (because they held the final performance at noon, right before pick-up at the end of camp), so I sat off to the side of the bleachers by myself. Kris or Alayna took this pic of me sleeping during one of the other team's routines. Sue me, this shit gets super boring when it's not your own kid's team on the stage.

Following the end of the performances, there was about an hour's lull where kids just ambled around the gym, taking pics with one another and dancing along to music that was blasting over the gym's PA system. We had to kill some time before they announced this year's All-Star Pom Team for the state (Abby once again tried out for the team this year, which should be nice and expensive for us), so we had to sit around and wait for the results. In the meantime, while we sat around bored, Abby went around getting pics with all of her friends and teammates (like Brooklyn here.)

With Nica.

Of course with her best friend, Ella.

Abby and Ella do their custom 'handshake,' which they've had since they were like 10 years old.

A pic with Emma.

One with her coaches.

I don't know who this is, I forget her name.

Not sure who this is, either - but she's been on the team with Abby for years.

Abby, Ella and Harper recreate their old Northeast Middle School Pom pose.

I'm not familiar with this pose, must be some new viral thing all the kids are doing these days on social media.

The frickin' scuba thing.

The dreaded Six-Seven.

Abby and some old chick, holding up participation ribbons (I think.)

Dancing along to 'Macarena.'

After an hour, they announced the All Star Pom Team, and the girls here from Midland's High's team - including Abby and Ella - qualified this year. So now the Johnsons get to spend Thanksgiving down in Detroit with us this year, and drop an arm and a leg on that whole shit-show.

Abby poses with their team's designated staff trainer after Midland High took the Grand Prize for this year's Pom Camp (they were deemed the best pom team at the camp for the second year in a row, which Abby was super excited about.)

Probably talking about something super important here.

The team, posing with their hard-won trophy.

Abby and her awards from this year.

Money well spent, right? Whatever makes your kids happy, folks. FML.

- Brian

The Rest of the Month of Caesar

The dads twisted my arm into golfing on my birthday. . .

What's up, fam.

July was, well, probably the busiest summer month The Houghs have had in years.  Without question.

For the entirety of the month, we were barely home:  we'd be gone for four days, home for two days, gone for another five days, home for four days, gone for a week, home for three days, gone for another week, home for a night, gone again for four days, home for two, etc.  All.  Frickin'.  Month.  

Multiple trips out to Eight Point Lake, a mission trip down to (ugh) Cincinnati, a stint counseling at a Junior High Camp in Sanford, camping with High School friends, Momcation '22, our annual trip out to Jellystone Campground up in Grayling with the Midland friend group, and a treasure trove of social outings scattered about on the weekends.  Consequently, the month flew by in, like, an hour and a half.

So here, dear readers, is a brief run-down of everything else the unflappable Houghs experienced during the glorious Month of Caesar.  Enjoy. . .

So the 'normalcy' of the month really kicked off on my birthday, seeing how as the few days before that we were up at Eight Point.  I didn't have any plans for my birthday at all this year - my usual go-to of hitting up my local record store, Radio Wasteland, was shot down because the owner was out of town. Kris went back to work and the girls hung out with friends, so I had the day to myself, which, at my age, meant that I had time to tackle some yardwork and boring house shit like that.  In the evening, though, the dads asked me to go out with them for their weekly excursion out to Beach Hollow in Freeland.

As you all know, golf is certainly not my jam - I find it pretentious and douchey as all hell - but driving around in a golf cart and having a few drinks while listening to music and hanging out with the guys sure beat the hell out of sitting on my back porch and reading a book or something.

Unlike most other times that I've gone out and accompanied these guys on golf outings - where I just smoke a pipe and drive a golf cart and talk to people while they play - this evening I actually played the dumbass sport myself.  And I am not good at all, folks.

Unlike Mitch, who is an actual golf pro. . .

Perfect weather for something like this, though - frickin' gorgeous out.

Morgan, Erik and Mitch

Mitch and I partnered up for this evening, since most of the other guys are all about on the same skill level and felt that the only way to make it fair was to put the group's best golfer with the group's worst golfer.

Morgan tees off.  This, for me, was definitely the hardest part of the game.

Now, putting is something I can actually do, and when it came to this I was actually holding my own against the regular golfers, much to their surprise.  I can thank Pirate's Cove Adventure Golf for facilitating many, many years of honing this skill.

I've said it before and I'll say it again, folks - there is nothing better than driving around in a golf cart, blasting music and having a few drinks.

The Dynamic Duo.

Keeping it classy.  I wasn't following dress code for this evening at all, guys - polo not tucked in, wearing sandals.  F*** it.

Someone suggested we take a pic of the group towards the end of our 9-hole round, so I set a timer on my phone and propped it up against my Yeti on the green.  From Left to Right: Erik, Morgan, Tom, Mitch, Omkar, and Yours Truly. 

After getting the shot I sent the pic out to our Dad group thread, since a couple of the other guys - Lonnie and Ryan, namely - generally golf every week but couldn't for some reason this time around.  Ryan saw this and got some extreme FOMO, so he added himself in the pic and kicked it back to us.

The Clubhouse, at the end of our evening round.  And that wraps up how I turned 42, folks.

The next day, Kris and I spent some more time tackling yardwork in the backyard.  I had mowed earlier, but there's always a shit-ton back there that needs work, seeing how our yard is the size of a frickin' park and everything.  This time around Kris focused on cleaning out the garden beds and I trimmed trees and started a fire to burn off all the debris and clippings.

After years of grumbling about it, Kris finally decided to destroy one of the old birdhouses that had been in the garden when we first bought the house.  I personally didn't mind it, but most of the paint was worn off it and Kris hated the damn thing, so I tore it down for her and we added its carcass to the inferno.

We spent hours today continually adding crap this fire. . .

Eventually, the fire raged on well into the evening, so we decided to just make a family evening out of the deal. . .

Obnoxious dogs.

Late on in the week I made this happen.  Not sure how, exactly - I either used the wrong bottle of weed-killer (the RoundUp-ish all-vegetation killer instead of the grass-safe stuff), or else I screwed up and added too much of the grass-safe concentrate to the mix (we use the concentrate because it's a better product and lasts longer.)

You can see all the dead spots scattered about the yard. . .

You can rest assured, however, that there were no more weeds in my backyard following this treatment, i can tell you that much. . .

The Friday of Momcation '22, a bunch of us dads decided to get together anyway, but were foced to sorta-parent since we were the only adults left in town.  Tom hosted a Mexican Night over at his place, so we threw together our kids and a dish to pass and headed out over that way.

Not as fancy as when the wives are around, but definitely manageable.

Meanwhile, down somewhere around Kalamazoo.  The wives, as mentioned before, have super-boring weekends away - all they do is sit around by a pool all weekend, drinking seltzers and doing nails.  I would get bored out of my mind.

Mexican stuff.

And, of course since it's us guys, there's lots of meat on hand. . .

The wives like their souvenir weekend cups.  One of these chicks has a Cricket vinyl-thingy and they all love making their own cups (which are temperature, color-changing, for whatever reason.)

Amy, Kelli, Deanna, and Danielle

Some of the older kids, hanging around inside at the VIP table (Alayna by this point had already been driven home - I forced her to come out and make a plate at the very least, and she tried to fill it completely up with sushi someone had brought.)

Kids are weird.

Hanging out on the deck

Seriously.  An entire weekend of just this would get so old after awhile.  Zero adventure, folks.

Tom's Amazon package filled with underwear showed up while we were all over there, he was pretty excited about it.

Ella, Sophie and Abby on the ol' backyard swing.

Broke out the cornhole boards after dinner (which should come as no surprise to anyone, honestly. . .)

Tom and Morgan

Danielle, Courtney, Kris and Deanna

Someone started a random fire along the treeline for whatever reason, no one was hanging out back there.  That's gonna end well. . . .

Blurry-ass pic from the wives at the end of the night

I'd get pics like this from Kris throughout the weekend - they all tend to look the same after awhile.

Good thing Kris wore her sunglasses. . .

Tanning. . . I guess.

Kris ordered me this Masonic lapel pin display which had been on one of my Amazon lists for my birthday.  I found the seller on Etsy and have ordered a few things from his store before, he does good work.  My growing collection of pins was overtaking my jewelry box, so this thing was a godsend.

Kris is getting a new boss next month (the dude in the yellow shirt) as her old boss is retiring and is selling the practice to the incoming dentist.  The guy apparently is a huge Star Trek fan (seriously) and so Kris and her coworkers all made Star Trek shirts for when he came into the office for the first time to meet everyone.  I'm sure he was thrilled.

Okay, so this is gonna seem really random:  Alayna signed up to volunteer as a caddy at some big, annual LPGA tournament down at the Midland Country Club this month.  Crazy for this kid, I know. It went down like this: the guy from the club responsible for gathering together caddy volunteers for this event just so happens to be a patient at Kris' dental office, and they got to talking about the upcoming event back in June or so.  When Kris mentioned she had a teenage daughter, he recommended she sign up, that she would have fun doing it, even if she had never caddied before or knew a Goddamn thing about golf.

The selling point for Alayna on this whole thing - because, like her old man, she has zero interest in gold - was that, despite being a strictly volunteer event, most pro golfers tip their caddies. Not guaranteed, of course, but it's the norm.  We told Alayna it was a sure-fire thing that she'd be paid for her efforts, but she decided to hold out for the lucrative golf tips anyway.

Her and I had to attend a two-hour long training session at Midland High, where they talked about where to stand on the course, when to approach the golfer, etc.  Then we had to buzz her over to the Country Club in order for her to pick up her 'uniform' (a shirt, hat, lanyard, string bag, etc.)  The following morning I had to drop her off back at the school, where they had shuttles waiting to ferry the kids to the country club.

 This event took all day, and five caddies were assigned to five amateur golfers who accompanied a legit pro golfer through the 18-hole course at the country club.  At the end of this course, they let the caddies take turns hitting golf balls (which Alayna had never done before.)

When we picked her up that evening, back at Midland High, Alayna was pretty pumped - the golfer she was assigned to tipped her $80, so she definitely wants to do this again next summer.

The following week, the girls accompanied a few other girls from Kris' church on a Mission Trip down to - ugh - Cincinnati, Ohio for some churchy volunteer work.

Their small contingent teamed up with other Methodist youth groups from Mt. Pleasant (and somewhere else, I forget) and caravanned down to the Butthole of the Nation in vans.

The morning Kris drove the girls out to Mt. Pleasant for the Mission Trip departure, Yours Truly set off for the Sanford Community of Christ campgrounds, where I was once again counseling at a Junior High Camp (something I haven't done since 2019.)

As part of the agreement for me signing up for something like this, I was once again placed in command of the infamous Cabin D - my old alma mater.

Camp numbers have dwindled to next to nothing anymore - which should come as to no surprise, really, seeing how church attendance is plummeting everywhere - so the camp was smaller than anything I had ever experienced.  There were only five boys at the entire camp (this was our cabin, here), which is a far cry from the 80 or 90-camper camps I grew up going to.  Pretty depressing stuff.

Campfire over 'Sanford Lake' - another depressing punch to the gut.  It should go without saying that I did not teach canoeing class this year.

Mission trip kids, at a pit stop somewhere down in the bowels of Ohio. . .

Sunrise over Sanford. . . um. . . field.

The girls would end up spending their mornings and afternoons serving at various places throughout Cincinnati - furniture stores, thrift stores, food banks, stuff like that.

Another shot of Sanford Lake.  Seriously mind-blowing looking out from familiar territory out into that shit-show.

Having ice cream. . . somewhere.  I don't know much about any of these pictures, the youth leaders would just text us random pics throughout the week.

Abby and some people.

Another morning at camp.

Abby's group (her and Alayna were placed in different groups, on purpose, so that they could socialize with other people.)

Halfway through the week, all the kids in the mission group were taken to King's Island, which, I take it, is kinda like Ohio's version of Michigan Adventures. . .

(Alayna looks thrilled.)

Of course she had to spend money on this bullshit.

My grandpa's ashes are all over this place, which is funny to think about when you watch kids spreading their blankets all over the place for campfire.

Here's people in another place. . .

. . .and another.

One morning, around breakfast, we heard a bunch of noise coming from the artist-formerly-known-as-Sanford Lake.  These bulldozers were grinding up a bunch of the brush that had grown up in the area since the Great Dam Bursting of 2020, and folks were saying that they're trying to remove it all before the lake fills back up. . . in five or six years.  I don't see the point of this - wouldn't all this vegetation just grow back?

I have no idea what she's doing here.  Zero context for ya, folks.

I guess this is some kinda church service, which I suppose makes sense since it's a Methodist mission trip and everything.

Towards the end of the week, Kris went up to Clare to visit her mom and her new place. . . and to drop off a cat she had picked up at the Midland Humane Society (Kris' mom had been wanting a pet to keep her company.)

I f***ing hate cats.

Marcy and Kris

The weekend we all came back to Midland, Kris dyed Alayna's hair (she wanted her tips purple.)

So this was fun.  I had an inflamed lymph node under my armpit, which I had first noticed about six months ago.  Over the course of the last few weeks, however, it began to grow in size, red in color, and had grown more and more painful.  At first, I was able to keep the pain at bay with Ibuprofen, but after awhile - and during the entirety of my time at Sanford Jr. High Camp - the pain became unbearable, like a golf ball-sized blister under my armpit.  It got to the point where I was forced to make a last-minute appointment with my doctor and drove to their office in the evening to have them look at it.  After checking it out, they told me that it had become infected and they needed to drain it: the PA and a nurse had to numb my armpit and then cut multiple incisions in and around the swelled area in order to start draining the wound.  What came out was, like, a pint of frickin' clear fluid and lots and lots of blood.  It took forever, and afterwards they had to pack a bunch of gauze into the open wound, which was probably one of the top three most painful things I have ever had to endure.  They told me I'd have to just keep gauze over it and change my dressings multiple times per day, as it was going to continuously drain - a lot - over the course of the next week or so.  Frickin' disgusting, but the pain went away almost immediately, much to my relief.  Talk about a weird-ass injury.

And, in closing, here's a shot of the wives, who all went out for dinner one evening towards the end of the month.  They can't go out without taking a group picture, it's ridiculous.

- Brian