A Picnic! Oh Joy.

Partook in a picnic yesterday with two daughters and a wife (all mine).

Close your eyes for a minute and think about going on a picnic. Nice, right? Sunny sky, warm breeze, wispy clouds slowly drifting overhead against a deep blue backdrop, plaid blanket spread out on a green manicured lawn, a wicker basket with one side carelessly tossed open to reveal a red and white inner lining, some carefully wrapped food, maybe some champagne and two glasses. A lovely family with smiling faces, wind tousled hair, faces flush with the joy of togetherness and outdoors-iness.

Ah, the family picnic.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH (that's the sound of the needle on a record player being ripped across an LP which had, until that moment, been playing easy listening jazzy picnic music).

Now here's the reality:

• Damp ground with bald spots. No way I'm putting my nice clean blanket on that. Let's sit at a picnic table instead.
• Bird shit on the picnic table. Yum.
• Is that the only drink you brought? Where's the mustard? You forgot the bocconcini that was in the fridge that we wanted to get rid of. And the prosciutto. Did you bring any fruit?
• Don't put your sandwich down on the table Micaela. Not clean. NOT clean.
• Oh look at that cute dog that's visiting our table. Aw, he's got a saliva infused rubber ball in his mouth, and he's gently waving it around near our food. How cute! He wants to play with us.
• Wait, there's another dog... a German shepherd! And this one likes to bark ferociously and strain at his leash to kill us. Aw.
• Now the gale force gentle breeze keeps blowing the plastic wrap away from the table. Don't worry, though, because we don't litter and Daddy will keep getting up and running across the park to catch up with it. Why secure the plastic somehow when Daddy's young and can run forever?
• Oh dear, the bugs have found us now! How could that be? Surely they should know better than to be attracted to the food we've left uncovered on the filthy table because the plastic wrap keeps blowing about. But again, don't worry. Daddy loves bugs. He's walking away from the table with his sandwich because he's trying to draw them away from the rest of us...not because he's fleeing.
• I know! Let's play Frisbee. Sure, the 5-year old has never thrown one before. But let's stand way far apart and pretend she'll be able to throw it to us. Oh, the 21-year old likes to throw the Frisbee too. And vertically! Let's also pretend she'll be able to throw it to us and keep dashing about trying to chase it in the many random directions she flings it. One more thought: Let's get Mom - all wrapped up in the picnic blanket to keep warm - into the game as well. Sure, she can't catch with her hands under the blanket, but what could be more fun than throwing things at her?
• Time to do something else. How about a nice walk in the surrounding Hundred Acre Woods? Bye Mommy. We'll see you when we get back to the car. We're not afraid of a few mosquitoes like you are.
• Isn't this nice. Just Daddy and two of his daughters. Walking in the woods. With swarms and swarms of mosquitoes. And poison ivy. "Leaves of three, let them be!" Whee!
• Time to go now. See if you can keep up with Daddy as he flees to the car waving the Frisbee madly in all directions to keep the swarms at bay. Wow, he can run fast. Why is there blood on the Frisbee?
• All together again. Enjoying our fine picnic dessert. So cool and refreshing. No bugs. No dogs. What could be better than this? Thank you Yogurty's!

Note: I exaggerate. We had a fine picnic. Great idea 21-year old. Lots of fun. We missed you 19-year old. (at least you can throw a Frisbee). It would be remiss of me not to mention the Monastery Bakery that provided our picnic food in all of its deliciousness. If you haven't been to Oakville before, you probably don't know about their potatoes. If you live in Oakville, you certainly do. If there is a better potato on the planet, I have yet to meet it.