As we were floating down the Ichetucknee yesterday,  I opened my eyes to discover that my tube was drifting into the weeds. My tube was bigger than the boys, with a headrest, and it was really hard to paddle. I could have hopped out and  pushed, but nobody likes to get out in the weeds.

“Ack!” I shouted, waving my arms and legs like a beached turtle. “Help! I need a push!”

My youngest son powered over to me. “Grab on, Daddy!”

I hooked my foot over the back of his tube, and held on as he kicked and paddled us back into the river.

I let go and returned to my leisurely drifting. “Phew! Great rescue. You earned yourself an ice cream.”

His brother’s head whipped around. “I can rescue you, too!”

“I’m kind of okay right now. No rescuing needed.”

He gave me a shove toward the bank of the river.

“It doesn’t count if you rescue me from trouble you get me into,” I said.

“Oh.”