Fishers of Kids

I've borne a fisherman.

A vegetarian fisherman.

I don't know how, I don't know why. It was never my plan.

To think of even touching a fish creeps me right out. I don't allow the thought of cleaning them (oh ick... a thought just crept in...) or eating them. The smell can drive me over the edge (especially that "fresh" fish smell) and when I'm in the grocery store I hurry past the fish on ice as quickly as possible - averting my eyes all the while.

Nevertheless, there's this boy in my house that eats, lives, and breathes fishing (well... not "eats"... there's that vegetarian thing...) He'd fish every day from sun-up to sundown if I'd let him. Actually...this kinda works to my advantage.

What?

What's that my son?

You say you'd like to go fishing with Grampa this morning?

How's that schoolwork coming along?

Your bed made?

Did that garbage make it to the curb?

Your laundry put away?

My laundry put away?

What's that I smell? Catbox?

My, the silver is looking dull...

Are those dust bunnies I see?

Of course, there is the occasional disadvantage too...

All three of the kids keep a tackle box now - each full of disgusting implements, some with dried worm guts on them. They love to go through their tackle, sorting, organizing and comparing equipment, carefully cutting out pictures from the latest Bass Pro catalog and taping them to their respective fish-wish lists. I try to keep the tackle out of the house, but now and then... a stray rubber worm or tiny hook gets overlooked.

Not to worry, though... Eventually, all things are found. Even the stray hooks.

It was pretty unusual for Michaela to sit still reading for any period of time, but having a fishhook through her Mommy Toe (the Mommy Toe because it's beside the Daddy Toe on one side and the Zachary Toe on the other side...) was all the persuasion she needed.

I will admit, part of me enjoyed the sitting still part a little bit.

I know... this is pretty unnerving... but it looks worse than it really is. She didn't even cry at all - it's a mere flesh wound.
Still makes ya' wanna wear your shoes in the house though, doesn't it?

Fishing does endear them to their Grampa... especially when he's the one that cuts the hook that holds you hostage to your bedroom carpet.

Even so, there will be tetanus shots all around before we leave for summer at the lake...