We went camping with Marc, Megan, Adrian, and Beatrice. We touched a frog, we got lost, we saw mermaid daddy, we read The Lolackths (Lorax).

Here we are in the back seat, on our way.

George and Beatrice put stuff in their mouths.

Others hung out in hammocks. I wish I could find the picture of me and Steve in the hammock with Marc on our camping trip in 2010. But I think it’s on an old hard drive that weighs as much as an iron and has a cord that is not USB.

This is like the most casual sleeping situation George has ever known. 

More typically:

Turning now to Father’s Day. Steve does so much for me and the children, next-door-neighbor Dorothy gets mad at me sometimes. You don’t know how good you have it, she says in her 80-year-old, Irish Catholic, Fairfax County way. Probably not! 

We love him, and we would not have survived in the wilds of 1957, Dorothy, when wives did all the things that wives back then did. 

Della made this tie-dyed-T-shirt picture frame for Dad. Or anyway somebody made it. We have all these daycare craft projects on the fridge, and sometimes Della walks by and says, “Michelle made that.” 

Couple of expired flower pictures to round things out. We love you, Steve!