If in the blogging world there was something referred to as a #latergram, this would totally be it. And there probably is a term but I seem to be so out of the loop on just about everything that as Pete the Cat says, "It's all good."
You see, one day I sat down and edited and organized about 10 blog posts. I was so proud of myself and so ahead of the game. Well, that was about 4 months ago and I am just about to finish this last one up to publish and finally be done. What's that they say about good intentions? I will blame a kitchen renovation even though my office isn't affected. It's probably because they had to cut the power one day for a few hours to run electrical. See, that's it.
But let's rewind to the first pretty day of this spring. I don't even remember when it was, but I do remember we enjoyed it oh so much. One of the many things I love about Athens is how beautiful it is in the spring and fall. So far this summer has turned out beautiful too and I hope not to jinx anything. But I have never lived in a town that screams more "GET OUTSIDE AND ENJOY THIS GORGEOUS WEATHER, DAY, TIME, ETC" more than Athens. It was the same way when I was here in college too. My motivation is killed once these seasons hit because all I want to do is sit outside,
drink beer (oops that was the college Amy speaking) and feel the wind blow.
This particular day we decided to pack a cooler and go fishing. When Byron and I first met, we fished almost every single weekend. We had a blast. We would sit on the tailgate of his old black Chevy and tell the catfish all about it. We would eat cold hotdogs we grilled the night before and just enjoy not having anything else to do. It was on the back of that Chevy tailgate that we first talked about getting married. We actually picked a date before we even got engaged. When you are dealing with the schedules of medical and nursing school, you don't have a whole lot of choices. :) So, it is easy to say fishing to me is one of those activities that I hold very fondly. It brings back the best of memories. Mostly of this guy, leftover hot dogs and potato chips eaten with fingers covered in chicken liver goo. Good times.
So it seemed a natural choice to dig for worms in the backyard, pack a cooler and head to the catfish ponds.
Little did we know that little Byron mini-me wouldn't enjoy fishing as much as his Daddy does. We hadn't been there for more than 5 minutes when the whining started. All those good memories of fishing, good times and chicken-liver-fingers...down the drain. Unfortunately I am learning this seems to be the theme with Nash. You get about 5-10 good minutes from him and then he is done and when he is done he is ready to make life miserable for anyone in a 5 mile radius.
Boys. 3 year old boys. This one wears me out. Thankfully he was up for a nature walk.
And even more thankfully, we found a whole bunch of rocks on that nature walk. Rocks = awesome in Nash's book. I have already found about 13 in my washing machine on different occasions. I was warned, and even though I do pocket checks - I seem to be outsmarted by the hardest of rocks. We found a small bridge (read plywood sitting on top of 2x4's) that Nash found to be the perfect spot to chunk the rocks into the pond. At first I was concerned about disturbing any sort of fishing going on in the vicinity by people that didn't have a 3 year old tag along...but then I realized that if there were any fish around after the whole Nash screaming his head off because he found a bug on him incident, they weren't concerned with rocks falling in the water.
So, I let him toss. And I let him hurl rocks. And I let him be a boy. And I let him fall head first into 2" of water. Oops, I didn't mean to but he's so top-heavy and that bridge was not the sturdiest.
And he had the best time. And come to think of it, we all did. Louisa managed to catch the wonkiest looking catfish I have ever seen. So while it wasn't the same kind of fishing Byron and I would do back in the day before kids, we did manage to have a great time and at the end of the day there was still a black Chevy tailgate to sit on. Granted this time it was attached to a truck that has a backseat and carries a bright pink car seat and a CD player that blares "Popular" from Wicked 24/7 and has a few wiffle balls rolling along in the back. But you know what, times they change. And while a part of me would give anything to go back to those catfish ponds as a 25 year old without a care in the world, I don't think I would trade my place on the tailgate with 2 of the craziest hooligans wedged between me and Byron for the world. So yes, times they change, but life is sweet. So, so sweet.