Some weekends are made to be remembered. I have a whole basket full from my childhood. Most often they involved spending the days out on our old boat till my skin was tight and prickly form the sun, lounging next to our old springer, Maggie, who I would use as a pillow despite the fact that she smelled of lake water and wet fur.
This was that kind of weekend.
The kind when nothing eventful happens beyond catching a crayfish (which I'll tell you I thought were called "crab heads" when I was their age, I'm not really sure why), and life is all the better for it.
And then we got to come home to a really, really clean house, which was kind of blissful I have to say. Not that it's clean now, because, you know, we've actually been in the house now, but to walk in the door and know that nothing really needed doing, at least not today. Ahhhhh.The perfect weekend.