The big one

The husband thinks I gave birth to the next bass pro fishing champion. This is what keeps him awake at night. Not the bills, or the household chores. Nope, he worries about how to get our son, at the top of his bluegill fishing game.

So for weeks the husband has been trying to convinced me that Tyler is ready to fish. He bought him a little kids fishing pole. They've been watching bass pro fishing tournaments on outdoors channel, and they've been practicing his casting and reeling skills, in the house. [sigh] And Tyler has even started saying fish. Well, in truth it sounds more like ish, but it's all a matter of perception.

I kept arguing with the husband that a fishing trip with a 2yr old, who had a real hook and a live worm attached to that plastic diego pole, was more likely to hook his father in the face, freak his mother out, and send everyone running to the hospital, than actually catch a fish. But noooo, would he listen? Not a chance. Everyday, I'd hear about something else that Tyler did that PROVED he was ready to fish. I ran out of resistance and caved. I agreed to go fishing, but I'll be damned if I'm putting a worm on a hook.

So the husband, myself, Tyler and our nephew Hunter packed up our stuff and headed down to the neighborhood pond where frosted flakes on a stick could catch a fish. The car was loaded. Because taking a 2yr old and a 6 yr old fishing for 1 hour requires more gear than the army needs to invade Iraq. We had a lawn chair, a tackle box, 2 fishing poles, a tub of worms, 2 juice boxes, an emergency supply of diapers, bug spray, a camera, 2 cellphones, snacks, toys, a back-up binky, a change of clothes, a pair of kid crocs, a towel, band aids, and a book for me to read while the boys did "men" stuff. I was exhausted just carrying everything from the car.

As it turned out, it was a good thing we brought the towel, because Tyler's fascination with water brought about the end of the fishing trip when he leaned a little too close and went head first into the pond. He came up, gasped for air and bobbed about the surface only once before the husband had jumped in and pulled him out.

He was soaked. Dripping wet. And covered in muddy pond alge. Gross. But the mom in me prevailed as I scooped him up, soaked clothes and all and attempted to calm him down as the husband ran to the car for the towel. (Why on earth had we left it in the car, oh that's right, I didn't want to make a THIRD trip) By the time he got back, I'd stripped Tyler down to his birthday suit, he was still sniffling and despite it being nearly 85 degrees, was shivering. We dried him off, changed his diaper, changed his clothes and wrapped him in the towel. Except I'd managed to forget to pack a spare shirt with the extra pair of pants I'd brought [mental head slap]

So when Tyler recovered from his near death experience, what I had was a toddler who looked like he fit right in at a trailer park. The pants I'd brought were too tight in the diaper, and flared out a little at the bottom, and were gathered at the ankles. They looked a lot like the balloon leg pants of the early 90's (nice). Powder blue crocs that were two sizes too big. No shirt. His hair slicked back, and a hint of a diaper peeking out the top of his pants. He was stylin.

On the bright side, Tyler had managed to catch his first fish, even if it was on the small side. We got a picture to prove it, and dad was never so proud.