We went adventuring Saturday with my brother-in-law’s family. Husband calls me in the morning from his daily trip to the pulga. “What are you doing today?” “Oh, washing dishes, grocery shopping, cleaning, nothing really.” “Do you want to go on an adventure? ‘Mon wants to find a river near Santa Rosa.” “Okay!” “Get ready now so we can leave.”
Did anybody tell me which river? No. Was I expected to find it? Not really, though we pulled out the GPS. Which doesn’t help much if I don’t have a name.
We found it. My grouchy impatient bear of a husband didn’t eat anybody. I finished the gusset on my sock. We got wet in a not so warm river. (One of the very few times I’ve missed Alabama heat. At least the waters warm up!) The kids had a blast!
The Russian River. Of course. (We stopped at Steelhead beach)
It was a good Saturday. Sunday wasn’t bad either, until I dropped and broke a glass all over half the food I cooked for the next couple of days. Yes, I cried. So much for preparing ahead. Grumble. At least the pizza dough escaped.