So I've gone fishing, figuratively. And gone fishing. Literally.
My dad found a box of old poles and miscellaneous fishing paraphernalia and mentioned he thought that it would be fun to take the kids fishing. Reminiscent of childhood. That father/grandfather/son bonding experience.
And because it was an overcast, breezy 105 degrees last week, it was a perfect time to go. So, we put together a picnic, packed up the tackle box and drove out to the lake.
Jack was unexpectedly patient. I thought for sure that he would be done after 3 minutes. Instead, he would ask every once in a while, "How long until the fish come?"
Lauren surprised me too. She was content just sitting on the bank. She really wanted to cast off all by herself. But I kept having flashbacks to when I was about 10 and cast off and almost used my Great Grandma who was 20 feet behind me as bait.
We heard my dad tell his tale about a goose who attacked him as a child and how he fears them to this day. Then, we saw the mother of all geese wandering the bank. Obviously, it wasn't a smart goose since there was a piece of a hook and some fishing line stuck in its mouth. We felt sorry for the poor thing. That is until it decided to attack Jack with wild abandon for a piece of bread he had in his hand. And being the pathetic mother that I am, I really did think that it was too bad I had already put the camera away. That would have been a great picture. But, kidding aside, it was nice to see the tradition of the Hagen side of the family continue.
Erik and I played it safe. 
And as you can see.....so did Grandpa.
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