I haven't been down the river since before you were born. It was a gift today from Mother Earth herself. The beautiful, older woman in the kayak raking up trash on the shoreline replied, "600 shoes I've pulled out of this river, 3000 cans, and lord knows what else," when I thanked her as the current drove us past. I kind of wanted to be her, you know, when I am old and lonely one day.
It was 90 degrees and there were some toddler wines, as usual. Lots of walking, not enough drinking water, and a close call as the current tried to take you underneath a dock. But it was our day, and your laughter was like medicine. It was as warming as the sun.
Thank you Jason for handling everything my pregnant mind and body can't, and for feeding me everytime I insist. I craved an ice cold beer today, you convinced me it would be okay. I believed you really, but still couldn't do it. I am lucky to be your wife and the mother of this tornado of a child.
Promise we can float the river again before another 4 years goes by.