Or, Don’t Forget to Tighten the Stopcock!  Oh… and You Might Think About Turning On the Pump….

We have been waiting for this day since last September….  OK, WE might be overstating it a little.  Make that HE has been waiting for this day since last September.

Don’t get me wrong, when the boat is up and running, it is sheer bliss.  We live on a perfectly lovely lake- clean and clear… and very cold right now.  During hot weather there’s no better place to be particularly because our little beach gets pretty durned crowded.  And to be out… and away… on the water.  Nothing like it.

However, the boat is really HIS summer baby, second only to his golf clubs.  Maintenance, cleaning, upkeep, all that jazz falls in his lap and he welcomes it.  Believe me.

Luckily on this crowded, cluster fack of a long weekend and for the following week, we are fortunate enough to have lucked out in the boat stall draw at our little marina.  It’s going to be upwards of 30 degrees Celcius, so break out the boat, baby!

Break it out we did.  10 kms down the lake, after having opened ‘er up down the middle, slicing through the water under the glorious sun.

From amidst the noise of the motor, Fidgey Fidgenstein calmly asks me, as I am blissfully distracted by the stunning view that was exclusively ours- alone on the lake, the calm before the tourist storm- “Where’s the water coming from, mummy?”

Without breaking my gaze of our surroundings, I casually respond, “Oh, it’s just the splashing, sweetie.”

Absorbed in the unadulterated beauty of our lake once again, within moments I hear a young voice, a boy… becoming increasingly shrill, “There’s a lot of water coming in…”

We look back to children in back of boat.  Three sets of shins engulfed in water… and disappearing fast.

Followed by, “TAKE THE WHEEL!!”

“WHERE’S THE BUCKET?!?!”

And then, “WHERE’S THE FUCKING BUCKET?!?!”

Children scatter throughout the small craft searching frantically.  In vain. No bucket.  I gun it.  I can see our marina markers in the distance.  I smell smoke.  Faster.  Home.

I glance back to see Husband tossing water with his baseball hat.  Madly.

I work to contain a smile.

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