Today, The Swede's fishing club's hosted their big annual competition and The Swede has been working hard to get everything ready for weeks. There's a big network of ice-fishermen on Facebook so he's been marketing the event like crazy, and it really paid off because there were about one hundred and twenty competitors who came from near and far to take part in what turned out to be the biggest competition of the year, behind only the Swedish Championship. Impressive stuff for a little club like their's and I'm proud to say that my husband was responsible for making it as big a deal as it was. I don't need to tell you that there have been butterflies over this event for days. So it was particularly upsetting when I woke up to The Swede leaning over me, telling me that he had a low-grade fever. He went out anyway, of course, to set everything up, and seemed kind of okay while Jamie and I were out there during the first hour or so, but things quickly took a turn. By the time Jambo and I were heading home after a leisurely hot dog break, The Swede had also packed up his gear and left for home with a 103-degree fever. He's a shivering mess now, and, poor thing, must be so disappointed with how the day went, but I'm still so, so proud of what he accomplished today.