The fishing trip of doom

Matt and I are not fishermen. We love the outdoors, and I hike almost every weekend I have the chance. I have lots of friends who love to fish. I think it's a fine way to spend your day — I just don't do it.

But Anne Marie has been talking about fishing for awhile, and we happened to be in McCall on free fishing day to visit my grandmother and uncle. We decided to try it. Fish and Game provided all the equipment, and even though it had been decades, Matt and I went fishing when we were little a few times, and we understood the concepts.

Or so we thought.

I thought putting a worm on the hook would be the hardest part. I wanted to just put on the marshmallow they gave us, but the Fish and Game man said they were eating worms, so I put the worm on — not as hard as I thought.

On the 976th cast, I got the wormy hook in the water.

From McCall and fishing

I prayed that we wouldn't catch anything, but the pond was stocked so full that I'm sure the fish were all swimming fin to fin. Soon, we had a bite.

I wish I had video of what happened next. I pulled in the fish, and it flopped out of the water. I grabbed it, and tried to take out the hook, but the poor thing looked me in the eye. I dropped her.

"Catch that fish!"I shouted to Matt as she flopped towards the water, hook still in her mouth.

"I don't touch dead things!" he screamed back.

I summoned all my strength and caught that fish, although I couldn't put the poor thing out of her misery. We had to keep it — my uncle needs routines in his life, and when he catches a fish, he eats it. Also, if we would have tossed the poor thing back, I don't think it would have made it anyway.

I remembered my grandfather whacking fish on a rock — it turned me off to fishing forever, I believe. I'm sure it's the most humane thing, but I couldn't do it.

I went to the Fish and Game guy and said, "I have a mostly-dead fish, and I don't have anything to put it in."

He laughed and gave me a string with a pointy end. "Just put this through the mouth and gills," he said.

Oh, God.

I tried. I couldn't. I gave the fish to Matt. He couldn't. My mom said, "Oh no," and she did it.

Anne Marie didn't get the concept. She wandered around, saying, "Poor fish. Maybe the worm we gave her will help."

I thought about my granddad, looking down from heaven on us. At first, I thought he was maybe laughing. But I know my granddad. He's probably still cussing.

We ended up with two fish — my uncle wanted to keep fishing after the fiasco. The second one went slightly better.

From McCall and fishing

From McCall and fishing

I won't even tell you about the fish cleaning. Uggh.

So we did it. "I hope this never happens again," I thought as we put the kids in the car.

I returned the fishing pole.

"You can have it," the Fish and Game guy said. "So you guys can go fishing again."

So now Anne Marie has a fishing pole. Who wants to take her fishing?

The rest of the trip to McCall was fun. We had picnics, ran around, went geocaching and Anne Marie and Thomas spent lots of quality time with their great-grandma and uncle.

From McCall and fishing

From McCall and fishing

Sugar fest 2010

I've never been one to be responsible about denying my children sugar. I don't give in every time, but the fact is, I really love sugar myself, and I don't believe I could do without it. So, my house has the occasional cookies or candy, and I don't worry if my kids get that stuff once in awhile.

Growing up, my mom was careful about our nutrition. At my grandparents' house, however, it was a major sugar-fest. There was always sugar available in many forms — sugar cereals, pop, candy, you name it. I distinctly remember once when I was about 8 asking my mom if I could have another pop. I had already had a can that day. My mom said one pop a day was enough. My grandmother responded with, "Virginia, you never let the poor kids have anything." Score one pop for me, straight down the gullet. I remember feeding my grandmother cinnamon bears on the interstate for "energy." I remember my grandfather and brother having pudding eating contests.

It worked for them. My grandfather lived to be 94, and my grandmother just turned 89 and is healthy. Perhaps it's their love of fresh fruits and vegetables that keeps them going.

From redfish 2009

And, that 89-year old still knows how to put out a sugar spread. Matt laughed when he first met my extended family at our annual reunion. The whole family was there, just as they always are, sitting in the living room of the cabin chatting. Soon, out comes a box of chocolates, to be passed around the room. Moments later come divine butter mints. It's how we always do it.

Now, my grandma isn't just about any kind of sugar — something you can open the hatch and toss down the gullet. With a few exceptions for classics such as twinkies, she buys quality, especially in chocolate or mint form. This was good stuff. If we don't agree on anything else, my family agrees on this — good, quality sweets mean a lot.

I recently felt my mother's pain over that pop however, when I went to visit my grandma last week. She had it all available — licorice, candy bars and a delicious citrusy cake. I had a flashback to my childhood when we were at a restaurant for breakfast and Thomas was acting a bit fussy. "Here, give him this," my grandma said, handing me a half-and-half container.

"He has some milk here," I said, showing her the cup.

"That doesn't have half and half in it," she said. "I think he'll like half and half more."

Turns out, he did.

Anne Marie already had the system down. She took a licorice, and I told her to put it back — she'd already had plenty of licorice. She put it back, but not long after that, I found her sitting on her great-grandma's lap, candy in hand.

She has also benefited from the snack plates of her great-grandma. The most memorable so far was the fruit and twinkie plate. It consisted of slices of fresh pears, slices of fresh kiwis and twinkies, placed in an attractive star shape. I wish I had a picture.

To heck with it

I’ve decided to say “to heck with it.”

It struck me today when I was at swim lessons with Anne Marie and Thomas. Anne Marie is in her own class for the first time this year, and Thomas was with me in the parent-tot class. Anne Marie loves the water, but is terrified of the thought of swimming by herself. She was shaking, but she made it through the class and looked like she was having fun. Afterwards, however, I think all of the nerves finally hit her, and she let go — HARD. We were in the locker room, and I was trying to change a wild 15-month old while my 3-year old stood there screaming. Then, I was helping a screaming 3-year old into her pants while my 15-month old kept running off, forcing me to leave the screamer and chase the runner. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Two mothers in there with their SINGLE babies each Thomas’s age, looked at me like I was the worst parent out there. I'm sure it didn't look pretty.

Then another mother, with kids about 5 and 7, came over and said to me, “It might not seem like this will get better, but give it a year or two. I remember things being that way.”

She made everything OK with that one comment. She understood. And really, why should I care if the other ones don’t? To heck with them.

I think mothers are altogether too hard on each other. I remember, when I only had Anne Marie, seeing those child leashes and thinking they were a bit of a cop-out. Why would you leash your kid when you can just chase them down or watch them more closely? She never went far.

Now I understand. Thomas HATES being held or in a stroller when he is in a big crowd or someplace exciting. He squirms, he wriggles, he works at the stroller straps until he can squeeze out of them and stand up, waving his arms. But as soon as I let him walk — does he hold my hand like his calm big sister did? No. He’s gone, and fast.

One of the things that stops me from the leash are the disapproving stares from people who think it’s horrifying. I was reading a forum one day when a woman reported that she had seen the horror of twins on leashes.

“This just made me feel so sick to my stomach. I couldn't see myself doing that to my future children.”

I probably wouldn’t ever actually buy a leash because I think this problem is temporary, and Thomas will soon be past this stage, but the sight of a child in a harness doesn’t make me nearly as sick and as the sight of a child ripped away by a crowd. I think the key word in this woman’s comment is “future.” I hope she has the wildest, fastest children ever. Or maybe triplets. To heck with her.

I got “the look” when Thomas was a very colicky baby and I absolutely had to go out and find some clothes for my new job. Unless we had to, we really didn’t leave the house normally. It was too hard, knowing he could go at any minute.

He was fine for 15 minutes, then erupted into a high-pitched angry scream. I checked out and left, with the woman giving me the evil eye. Thomas sort of calmed down on the way out, and her face softened a bit. Then, I realized I had forgotten something and had to go back into the store. I told the angry-looking clerk that he was colicky, and she said, “Oh, I thought you had dropped him in the dressing room.” To heck with her.

I imagine it happens to everyone at some point. Some people give mothers looks for breastfeeding in public, and others give mothers looks for mixing formula when they should be breastfeeding. To heck with all of them.

There are the people who told me that when my child was old enough to ask to nurse, he’s too old. What would they say if they knew he brings me the nursing pillow at night so he can have a nightcap? We don’t nurse during the day, when we both are too busy to think about such things, but I don’t have a problem letting him have that comforting part of his bedtime routine a bit longer. He’s only 15 months old. He won’t be nursing when he’s 3. To heck with them.

There was the woman who chewed me out last summer for carrying my baby in a Moby wrap. She said his feet were blue because the wrap was cutting off his circulation. His feet were blue because his new socks had dyed them. To heck with her.

What bothers me most is that the most disapproving looks tend to come from mothers. I've probably done it myself without even knowing it. I don't think these people are bad — just well-meaning people who think they know what's best.

We should all be a little kinder to each other. Who knows what situation another mother is in, and when it might happen to us. The vast majority of mothers want what's best for our children, and most of us know our children and their needs and wants better than anyone. I can't control what others do or say, so I've decided I just need a thicker skin. I think a good mother is one who does the best she can for her child, not worrying about what others might think. What I do might not always be the "right way" or the "best way," but it's our way.

Sibling love

Why in the world must sibling love be so volatile?

From Albuquerque

A typical conversation in my house:
Anne Marie: AHhhhhhh! Thomas no!
Thomas: nonononononononono Ahhhhhhhh! (stomping feet and flailing hands)
Me: What happened?
Anne Marie: I didn’t want Thomas to look at me.

Also typical:
Anne Marie: Don’t worry, Thomas, I’ll help you read.
Thomas: meow, meow
Anne Marie: Mama, he said, “kitty cat!” I’m so proud of him! Great job Thomas!

Why is it they can share an ice cream cone, bite by bite (yes I let them do that- the cuteness overrides any germ issues to me), but can’t share space on a couch that seats four?

Why does Anne Marie fiercely defend her brother at daycare, then take him out pro-wrestling style at home 15 minutes later, then a few minutes after that, welcome him into her blanket fort?

I have a brother, but I’m still not sure I’ll ever get it.