The thermometer has been rising, outdoor busy-ness has commenced, thunderstorms have arrived with a vengeance, and yet we’d not personally arrived at summer. We’d not yet jumped into the free-for-all of sun, beach, grass between the toes, and ice cream that define the summer season. It was as if our Crazy Train of Life missed the stop at Summerland.
Whatever the case, we’ve finally arrived, though not without a few bumps. On the verge of a whirlwind 4th of July weekend, a mysterious illness knocked me on my ass. I can’t remember ever feeling so sick, but I’m thankful to confirm that it wasn’t Lyme Disease, a real possibility in these tick-infested parts. Whatever the diagnosis, it was tamed with antibiotics enough to get in the car and begin our first round of fun – a great, big family get-together with Andrew’s family and small army of close family friends.
One of the highlights: the inaugural run of Isadora’s very own fishing pole. It was her first gift from Grampa, when she was only a few days old, and it has waited patiently all this time.
Worms. Every bit as fun as the actual fishing. I suppose she comes by that honestly.
The Dads worked the pretty pink fishing poles with a dedicated intensity that we’d never before seen, determined to catch and hook the fish for the girls to reel in. And by some stroke of magic, the first fish was caught, reeled in by Isadora, and then soon followed by her cousin’s own fish. Back and forth the bounty shifted, the fish somehow magically following the rules of sharing and turn-taking that make a cousins’ partnership harmonious. The Daddies kept the pace timed perfectly for a 2-1/2yr-old attention spans, with little time for worm interludes between the excitement of reeling in the next catch.
Not too shabby, Daddio.