Up a Creek.

On our third date, Todd and I went canoeing.  (Our first date was on the Fourth of July, and we ate at the Border Grill in Cambridge and then watched Boston's fireworks from a hill at Tufts University.  For our second, less eventful date, we watched Samuel L. Jackson as Shaft.)  It was delightful, and then look what happened.  We drove across the country and got engaged, we got married and eventually had two silly and smart little girls and decided to take them canoeing, too.

We went once with Marley, and I don't even think she was two yet, but after we lugged our hand-me-down canoe to our new address five years ago, we didn't touch it after we had it set up on sawhorses next to the shed.  And then about a month ago, Todd decided that enough was enough and we were going to go canoeing, because otherwise what was the point of owning a canoe and living across the street from a river and only a half-mile from a public canoe put-in?

Rudy spent most of the voyage leaning over the edge of the canoe, and at one point I heard myself warn, "Careful, careful, careful.  No, no, NO!" and it was clear that between Todd and me, I was not the fun one.  But I did plop Lambie on the bow deck so that we could have a figurehead with some personality.