Fish Stories

You've heard them all...the most popular, "you shoulda seen the one that got away!"
So I'll digress. 
This is a different kind of fish story.
My best friend and I try to get together at least once a year, mostly during trout season, to go fishing.
We both learned to fish from our dads, who also were best friends in childhood.  This friendship won't likely continue into another generation, since our girls are pretty far apart in age.
But once they do come of age, we're hoping they'll appreciate what it's all about.
Some anglers dream of catching 'the big one' and mounting it on the wall, maybe a picture taken with it. 
For us, it's a little more.
It serves as a reminder of what all was here long before we were, and what will remain after we leave this world.
And just how we survived before all of the modern conveniences came that we now take for granted.  We lived off the land.
That's the message all anglers should convey to their young 'uns. 
The things that were here before cars, cell phones, computers, fast food, video games, you name it.
I've always considered fishing one of those activities that can be completely thought-provoking or utterly mindless, and neither one of those things are bad.
As I entered the cold waters of Elk Creek alongside Patrick, all I could think of was 'would my daughter ever appreciate all this?'
Someday I'll put her to the test and find out for sure.
And even if she's more content to pick flowers along the banks of the creek, that'll be good enough for me.
Because she'll have something on her mind other than her V-Reader or the next episode of "Dora the Explorer".


NEXT WEEK:  Cosby Philosophy

Big Brains, Little Bodies

My daughter never ceases to amaze me. 
If there was ever a little person who wants to do big things, she's it.
Shortly before her second birthday, when her vocabulary suddenly gushed forth, one of her many phrases was "I can do so many things!"
No argument there.
Every milestone she would pass within a month after this would bring forth that same statement.  She was a wonder even to herself.
An eager desire to please.  An even bigger urge to do.
"I can do it myself" is fast becoming the order of the day in our house.
And if she can't, she at least wants to try.
So we let her.
But despite all this independence, there comes a small desire on her part to remain a baby.
Like when we go downstairs first thing after she gets up, to go to the bathroom.  Then afterwards, we go back upstairs to get her dressed.
Every so often, she'll stand at the foot of the stairs and turn to me with her arms up and her tiny face turned upwards, her bright blue eyes meeting my own.
"Carry," she pleads.
I sigh at the thought of my never-ending backaches.  "Honey, you're getting a little big for this."
"Carry me Daddy," she persists, now standing on her toes trying harder than ever to reach me.
Another sigh.  "OK," I say as I bend down to scoop up her ever-growing little body that makes what used to seem like a little loaf of bread now akin to a huge sack of flour.
Wearily, I pick her up and trudge up the steps, but not without noticing her nuzzling her head against my shoulder and as close to my neck as possible, clasping both of her arms around neck and shoulder.
At that moment, I feel my back growing a little stronger.
Less painful. 
Because I know moments like these won't last forever, and soon all I'll have are the memories.


NEXT WEEK:  Gone fishin'

Work Place

Tasks.  The honey-do list.  To-do list.  The work you do on the weekends, when you're supposed to be off from work.
The work you do inside the home.  Or at least within the confines of your property lines.
Chores.
We've all had them.  And they've been around since the dawn of time.
The work we would rather not do, but we do it anyway.  The things that have to get done.
Laundry.  Pay bills.  Cut grass.  Trim hedges.  Vacuuming.  Cleaning.  Take the garbage out.
Lately, I hear more and more people complain about how kids are getting fatter, and spend less time outdoors.  Not only that, but fewer and fewer parents don't assign tasks to their children to make them appreciate the value of work and how it's necessary in every culture on this planet.
Just a couple weeks ago, our two-and-a-half year-old daughter became exposed to chores for the very first time.
Our daughter does want to help us around the house.  Unfortunately, her little body and her still-developing motor skills limits her to what she can do, despite her still-developing brain with a wisdom that extends far beyond her two and a half years.
But I came up with an idea.
We live along a state highway.  For this convenience, we're exposed to every litterbug on the planet who chucks an empty cigarette pack or water bottle out their window, rather than wait until they get home to put it where it belongs. 
During the cold weather months, a good bit of it accumulates in a portion of our yard near the road's shoulder.  It was particularly unbearable that day.
I got an old shopping bag and went hunting for Savannah.
"Wanna help Daddy?"
"Okay!"  The smiling face upturned towards me showed me she was happy to oblige.
Before we went outside, I sat her down and told her we knew how much she wanted to help us and how much help she could be with what she was about to do.
We went out to the front yard and I showed her what garbage was in the yard.  I held the bag open while she picked up every bit of trash.  She did so without so much as a whine, whimper or other complaint.
Then to the back yard. 
We have a huge black walnut tree in our backyard.  The nuts drop from the trees in the wintertime, and often rot under the snow until next season. 
I showed Savannah the walnuts under the tree and what to look for.  She happily went and plucked the nuts from the ground, along with the sticks and twigs that also needed to be picked up.
She even made up her own little song while picking up the nuts. 
Then came grass clippings.  She began to run out of gas as this little project progressed.
Then in the house for lunch.  Then potty time. 
Then came nap time.  And she went down QUICK.
All I could do was sit back and smile.
Parents.
There is a method to the madness.


NEXT WEEK:  Do I still really have to tease next week?

Potty and 'da Crib

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  Due to computer issues, there was no column for last week.  We apologize for the inconvenience.

My two-and-a-half year-old daughter is going through potty training, as I had previously mentioned.  However, there's still some improvement needed on her end.
She's learned to 'hold it in' most times, but still fails to tell us that she needs to go.
Probably because it's a waste of time for her.  Places to go, things to do, you know, that kind of stuff.  She can't be bothered with things like going to the bathroom.
Putting her in 'big-girl' underpants has had less-than-mild success when we tried it late last year.  But now we're nearing the end of the pull-ups.
And we've warned her. 
She will have to adapt.  Or 'accidents' will happen.
This means coming to us when she has to go.
We purchased a convertible-style crib for Savannah after learning Margie was pregnant.  It includes bed rails that will allow her crib to be converted to a regular bed once she's fully 'trained'.
Most of the time when we do put her up on the commode without asking, she 'goes' without really much effort.
Unfortunately, this will not work on those times when she doesn't think she can 'hold it in', and there's no bathroom facilities readily available.
When you gotta go, sometimes you really gotta go. 
She's already learned this the hard way a couple of times.
And when does get the hang of this, it will be a turning point, make no mistake.
Big girl underpants.  A junior bed. 
I'm afraid to ask what's next.
Maybe boyfriends calling?
She has that going on already at daycare with Mason, her little bestie.
I'm sure he has ambitions, but who knows what kids are thinking.
I can see it now..."sorry Mason, but I'm interested in a guy who's out of pull-ups."
Upward mobility.
That's my girl.

NEXT WEEK:   Task Manager