I’m blogging this week from beautiful Fiji.
Yay. Hubby and I brought the four kiddies along with us to help celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary.
This is me. I collapsed on the beach the second I saw the view and my daughter took this picture. I have vowed to bring my laptop to this inspirational location tomorrow to write.
But for today, it was an island adventure. We kayaked and snorkeled all morning. This is the beach where we did.
It’s glorious, isn’t it? I have to keep pinching myself that I’m here
Not long after this, we all walked along the water’s edge. My eight-year-old son raced ahead and up onto the grass edging. I caught up to him as he clambered around a small rowing boat set aside from the others. Leaning over the hull of the one needing a touch of repair, he gasped. “Mum, come look at this. I found two frogs. You have to help them.”
I strolled over to take a look. There were two frogs, splashing around in a puddle of water in the base. “I don’t think they need help.” They looked happy to me, although how they got in there, I had no idea.
You should have seen the horrified look my answer received. “No, Mum.” Blatantly said. “You have to rescue them. Get in the boat. Get them out.”
I blinked several times–I had to rescue a couple of frogs? “Honey, frogs and I don’t get along.” We really didn’t.
My son came around behind me and pushed me into the rowing boat, which meant no, that answer didn’t fly. Oh boy, why do children believe Mum and Dad can do it all?
And where was Dad? Frogs and all things slimy were his specialty.
I gripped the side of the rowing boat. Hubby shouldn’t have been too far behind with the others. Yet as I peered down the beach, he was nowhere to be seen. Typical.
Twenty years and the rascal still knows how to get out of the dirty jobs.
So, I sucked in a deep breath, squished up my nose and got down to the serious business of being a mother. There was plenty of squealing as I launched into the rescue mission. The crafty frogs kept slipping out of my hands. They were determined to remain inside the boat playing in the water. They were having a wonderful time. I was not.
My son cheered me along, clapping from the sidelines when I finally caught them. “You did it,” he beamed.
Thank goodness for that. “Take the frogs.” I passed him the squirmy green critters and scrambled out. “Go deliver them home.”
Which he did to the nearby pond, rattling off the story to Dad when he finally made an appearance.
Interestingly, later that night, it was announced that frog racing would be held down at the rowing boats. Apparently two frogs were caught each morning and raced in the afternoon. Um…
Perhaps this wasn’t going to happen.
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