The two of them like to fish together, that's the main thing. But always, always they get into other adventures. Like the time they discovered a white water rapid in which they could bob along without a boat... or lifevest.... they named that patch of river "Bad Baby." I hate Bad Baby.
On the first night of this trip, they went out with my husband to scout a place to fish the next day. A quick trip. When they hadn't returned by 10, I went on to bed. I heard them come in around midnight I think. Full of hilarious stories and breath-taking adventures which I slept through, sort of. The next morning they were so shocked I was asleep when they came in. "Weren't you worried??" they pleaded. "Dad said you'd have called the police and come out looking for us!" I yawned and stretched. "No..... Nope, wasn't worried." I learned a long, long time ago not to worry, it would just be a waste of time and ruin my vacation. Turns out this time I should have worried. They got lost. In the forest. After dark. The glow-in-the-dark frisbee was the only light they had. Their knees and shins were covered in blood and scratches. They crawled along cliffs, certain their next step would be their last. I slept. Like a baby. A Bad Baby.
Maybe I'll start worrying for her now.
By the way, they did get into an adventure that landed them in the emergency room the following night and involved a fishing hook in Grayson's forehead:
And I most certainly DID worry.