gone fishin'

Piglet was spoiled with birthday treasures and surprises by grandmas and grandpas and cousins and friends. Trains and cars and pajamas and coloring books and diggers and miniature buzz lightyear and pirate legos. All thrilling to his little three year old self, almost as thrilling as the birthday cake. From mommy and daddy: a genuine fishing pole and accompanying lightning mcqueen tackle box, filled with bobbers and hooks. He was elated. Elation that was elevated with the procurement, from the depths of daddy's closet, a most hideous jungle-print floppy fishing hat. 5 sizes too big for the birthday boy and probably two decades old, but I think that's what sent his joyous giggles right over the edge into euphoria.

So, a little post-dinner/pre-bedtime fishing excursion was in order. Daddy and piglet out on the dock, a narrow dock surrounded by water. A dock on which an eager little guy ran with his carton of worms, and bounced and wiggled while his mother nervously watched from the beach and periodically screamed "Be still! Hold Daddy's hand! Don't run!" It was useless, but disasters were avoided. And he had a grand time. With many more fishing excursions to come.