Where should I start?

Should I start with the other day when I had this conversation?

Dorian: "Oshimashion" is a word.

Me: No, but "oscillation" is.

D: "Cock" is a word.

Or perhaps with the good one about the computer that was so infected that while I was running the anti-virus software, the list of infected files was scrolling past and featured the anti-virus software as having a virus.

Or maybe you'd like to hear about how on Monday, I was driving home from the car dealership where I had the car serviced (thankfully, the warranty covered it), and as I approached our house I saw a man asleep on the lawn. Before I could even think that perhaps a fence might have prevented this, I realized there were three men asleep on my lawn. But then, I realized that my fence was halfway up, and the men were my fence men, and they were spending their lunch break basking in the glory of a sunny spring day. And I have my fence! And it is twice as awesome as I hoped.

But what you really want to read about is probably my trip to the river yesterday with my boys and 8 year old Flapdoodle, Jr. I had planned on some rock-throwing and some bug-catching, but Junior had other plans. He proudly announced that he had jumped off the big rock into the swimming hole many times last summer, and then he decided he would like to do it again yesterday. It was sunny and about 60 degrees, which outside of VT is not exactly swimmin' weather. I informed Junior that the water was wicked cold and that it was not really a good idea to swim in. He dips a finger in to test it, remaining firm in his conviction. He needed to jump in that river. I know why he did. That water was so clear and so green, it was begging to be swum in.

I told him that if he really wanted to do it, he would have to take his clothes off, because I did not have dry clothing for him to change into. He spent a moment deliberating whether it was worth risking the embarrassment of being naked in front of his friends and their mom, told Dorian to look away, and started undressing. And then, he plunged in.

His mother had recently told me he would be joining the swim team this summer, and he was proud of his experience jumping off this rock last year. It quickly became apparent, though, that jumping into all that fresh snow melt was a bit too much for him. He surfaced, spluttering and clawing at the water. I leaned over the edge of the rock, grabbed his wrists, and pulled him out, giving him a nice scrape souvenir. After depositing his shivering body on the warmest rock I could find, I ran across the rocky beach to get him a towel. He quickly recovered, dressing again while my children disrobed and getting back to the business of exploring. But every few minutes I would hear "Allison, do you remember when I jumped in and it was so cold?" or "Allison, it was so cold, I think my organs could have shut down." Thank goodness they didn't. Especially since Flapdoodle, who only cares about disco and worrying, shrieked something about how "he doesn't know how to swim!" and something else about him being too chicken to jump off that rock last year.