I’m not sure how we got back in to fishing.  It’s probably due to my older son’s love for the sport.  Towards the end of the summer, we began to surf fish in Corolla, and it has done nothing but escalate from there.

Would I begin a fishing spree in the spring though?  No, that is too easy.  Typical me, it all starts to happen as the temperatures begin to drop.  Of course in Virginia Beach, that means striper season.  But you can’t just waltz on to a pier and fish in jeans and a winter coat.  For winter pier fishing, you have to dress Rambo style.  Thank heavens I have had a good teacher.

Our first escapade on the pier was a night fishing adventure.  And as my luck goes, the evening we pick is freezing with wind gusts over 20 mph.  Imagine yourself at the end of a pier over the freezing ocean water, IN THE DARK, being blown about like an episode of Deadliest Catch.  Well, to be honest, scale that down a bit.  Now a little bit more.  There, you got it!

My outfit for the evening included the following:  Base layer. Cuddle Duds. Jeans.  Shirt.  Thermal shirt.  Another shirt.  Fleece.  Coveralls.  Winter Coat.  Ear protection.  Head protection.  Face protection.  Eye protection.  Four toastie toes, two in each boot.  Gloves.  And a bad ass attitude.  Cause you know what?  I was the only chick on the pier.  Spit and SCRATCH.

During the course of our fishing adventures, a man walked on the pier and announced to us, “You are either avid outdoor lovers or lunatics.”  My first thought was lunatic, by my son replied, “We are a little bit of both.”

Yesterday was our second adventure, immediately following a basketball game in which my ten-year-old daughter cheered.  Yes.  My daughter.  A cheerleader.  Who woulda thought.

After the game, she traded in her too cute cheer outfit for a very different uniform.  Only HER winter hat had ears.

My friend said, “By the end of the day she was not only going to catch her own fish, she was going to kill it and clean it.  My daughter’s reply?  “I will NOT do the killing.  That will put a stain on my soul.”  From my point of view?  Agreed.

Sadly, there was no striper to be had that day.  However, there were indeed plenty of sharks, a crab, a skate and a little catfish.

Smiling Before He Is Released

One of the sharks came home for dinner.  The shark we caught is actually called a spiny dog fish and is used in the popular fish and chip dishes.  It is mild, tender and very delicious.

The ten-year-old cheerleader who didn’t want to stain her soul?  She swiftly killed the shark, cut off the head, spines and fins, gutted and cleaned it.  That is far more than I ever want to do.

Indeed, yesterday there were TWO chicks on the pier.  And the smaller one of them totally rocked it.  That’s my GIRL.

So imagine my chagrin at seeing my oldest son not only dream of hunting, but dream of big game hunting.  He is one of those manly men who wants to seek out, kill, clean and cook dinner for the family.  Sigh.  Yes, this is my son.  I want to pet Bambi, and he wants to eat him.

It wasn’t a surprise that after two weeks of surf fishing with not even a bite, my son announced on our last beach house day of the year, “I am going to eat anything that I pull out of the ocean.”  “Anything?!”  My mother and I attempted to call him on that when he reeled in a few mermaid’s purses.  “No, it has to be ALIVE,” he replied.

After a few hours of still no bites, he cast one last time.  I looked towards the heavens and said a prayer.  Please… he has worked so hard.  Let him catch a fish for his lunch.  And then his line jerked.  And jerked again.  And then it nearly snapped as he fought the creature pulling at the other end.

Finally, the battle was won.  Indeed, my son pulled something alive out of the ocean.  Something he was very excited to eat.

Yes, I said EAT.  He quickly cleaned the skate, killing it instantly.  For those who are interested, I have a picture of the insides of the skate.  I found it fascinating.  Strangely, the insides almost look like sushi.  You can look at the skate guts here if you so choose.

Once the wings were off, we soaked them while he got his batter ready.

Skinning and filleting the skate wings were a chore, but he was determined to make it work.  Although I felt sorry for the skate (Ohhhh poor fishie!), I was proud that he caught, cleaned and cooked his prize.  And yes, skate tastes just like scallops!

With all of this in mind, tell me this.  Was it strange that I came home this week to the following in my refrigerator, and did not bat an eye?

How many mothers open their refrigerators to find a surprise pool of blood on the top shelf.  It can’t be many, can it?  In case you are wondering, the following came from that particular mess, compliments of my boy:

This also occurred, compliments of my boy.  Find the spots and find the deer blood.  Something I learned after taking this picture?  Deer meat is like crack to Dalmatians. The next time my son cuts up deer meat, there WILL be video.

My son the deer jerky maker, four points.  Bambi, zero.  Poor Bambi.  I don’t remember raising this child in the deep woods.  How in the world does this happen?!

In the Burger King drive-through:

Me:  What is that down there?

My Son:  I can’t tell.

Me:  (Rolling down the window.)  Hmmmm…

My Son:  It’s an antler!  Hold on!

(Son gets out of the car and grabs the single worn antler from the drive-through lane.)

Me:  You are NOT putting that antler on my car.

My Son:  Yes I am!

During the next five minutes we discuss how not to put an antler in a window, my son almost gets his hand caught in the window, I beg him to take the antler off the window and then we drive away with a single antler pointing happily towards the sky.  Connected to my window.

<sigh>

After that it became a competition.  The antler is taken off.  The antler is snuck back on.  A few weeks after Christmas I managed to hide it and forgot all about it.  Until last week, when it was discovered and placed back on the car.  In January.

But sometimes life throws attachment in your face when you least expect it.

This morning my son opened the window while we were driving.  And then I heard him scream.

“Nooooooo!  The ANTLERRRRRRRRRRR!”

I looked in my rear view mirror and sure enough, there was a single, lonely antler in the road.  And it was becoming smaller and smaller as I watched.

Sheer panic.  “Mom.  You have to go back.  YOU HAVE TO GO BACK!”

My mind spun a million different ways within a second.  And then I made a u-turn.  My son bolted out of the car.  Says I?  “Wait!  Here is my camera… TAKE A PICTURE!”

Seeing him race to the car with an antler in his hand and grin on his face made me think.  Not all parents would have turned around to get that old worn antler.  But I did.  Had I become attached to that stupid thing?

No.  My attachment to my son made me turn around.  Sometimes it is the little things that make life good.  No, that make life great.  Today I made my son smile.  And it felt good.

The next time you see something in the middle of the road, stop.  Because you never know what might bring you the next moment of joy.

Now where can I hide that antler?

My boys began with Pokemon, so many years ago.  I was sad when they graduated to Yu-Gi-Oh.  Much more complicated and a lot less fluffy.

And then, quite unexpectedly he came back.  Pikachu, that is – through the hands of my daughter.

Pokemon is still out there and is as popular as ever.  At least it is in the third grade circle.  But today’s Pokemon go beyond my little friends Charmander, Butterfree and Jigglypuff.  It was this weekend that I found out just how far they’ve gone.

It started with words between my daughter and son.  The laughing “Oh YEA?!” type of conversation.

Pokemon is better!

Nuh, Uhhhh!

Uh Huhhhh!

Well then, are there Grass Types of Yu-Gi-Oh cards?!

Yes, pretty much.

Well I bet there aren’t Rock Yu-Gi-Oh like on Pokemon!

As a matter of fact, there are.

I bet there aren’t any Piss Stick Yu-Gi-Oh’s!

What?

Piss Stick!  Like Piss Stick Pokemon!

What do you mean Piss Stick Pokemon?

Here!  It’s in my book!  LOOK!

P-S-Y-C-H-I-C

See?!  Piss Stick!

What I’m impressed with the most other than his giant Hobbit-looking foot is the super cool bruise that began to develop just a few days ago.

We have watched it spread from his toes to his ankle, marveling at the absolute straightness of the whole thing.  You can actually see where his foot turned completely sideways!

I’m happy to say he is going to live, but I think becoming a member of the Riverdance crew is out of the question.  Unless they like Hobbits.

Let it be known that all previously unsuspecting drivers traveling from the Outer Banks to Virginia Beach yesterday were duly warned.

You know how Charlie Brown’s teacher sounds when she talks?  That is pretty much what my daughter heard, except for the following exception.  “Mwa mwaaa mwa mwaaaa GLASSES mwaa mwaa mwa.”

“I get to wear glasses!  Mom, can we go get them now!  Why do we have to wait!  What color will I wear?  Mom can we go see the eye doctor?  Did you make an appointment yet with the eye doctor?  I picked out  a pair of glasses at Price Club today when I was with Grandma!  I think I might have to wear them in gymnastics.  Mom I can’t wait to wear glasses!”

So Saturday was the day.  Eleven p.m. sharp.  The eye doctor.  We were there 30 minutes early.

The findings?  My daughter does NOT need glasses.  Joyous news.  Until I looked across the room at that little girl who apparently just received the blow of her lifetime.  Her bottom lip was quivering.  Her eyes were nearly brimming with tears.  But she held it in and stared straight ahead.

Fortunately, the Ophthalmologist knows little girls very well and saved me.  Big time.  “Oh, but there is a cute little store called Claire’s in the mall that carries fake glasses for kids who just want to look cool.”

So off we went.

My daughter has not taken the fake glasses off since.   And last night, I even found her in the kitchen, whipping up a bunch of Scooby Snacks.  OK, don’t tell her I said that.  Please.

So I am completely turning the tables.  I am slowly learning from blogging rockstar Jen that sometimes it is more fun to be politically incorrect than it is to be a “mommy blogger.”

Are you ready?  Here goes.  Blog post, take four.

Over the last few weeks, I have heard more Helen Keller jokes than one should hear in a lifetime.  Being the most uberly awesome mother that I am, I have chastised my boys for such TASTELESS jokes.

Especially when my mom is around.  Cause gosh, Hellen Keller was deafblind yet was still an American author, a political activist and a lecturer.  (Sommmeeeoneee’s been reading Wikipediaaaa!)  And it is WRONG to tell Helen Keller jokes.  WRONG WRONG WRONG!  <snicker>

Father, forgive me for what I do.

• What did Helen Keller’s parents call the closet?  Disneyland.
• Where did Helen Keller’s parents say she was when people came to visit?  Disneyland.
• How did Helen Keller burn her ear?  She answered the iron.
• How did she burn her other ear?  They called back.
• How did Helen Keller meet her husband? They were on a blind date!
• How do you get Helen Keller to keep a secret? Break her fingers.
• How did Helen Keller pierce her ear? She answered the stapler.
• What is Helen Keller’s favorite convenient store?  WAAWAA
• Helen Keller went to town riding on a pony, stuck a feather in her cap and called it…uuuuhhhhhh
• What did Helen Keller scream when she fell off the cliff? Nothing, she was wearing mittens.
• What did Helen Keller say when she found the cheese grater? It was the most violent book she had ever read.
• Did you know Helen Keller had a pool in her backyard?  Neither did she!
• Why can’t Helen Keller drive a car?  Because she’s a woman!
• Why did Helen Keller’s dog commit suicide? You would too if your name was iuyirdydudjfhsdgaskj

My mom is SO going to kill me.

Sorry, I can’t list a teenage girl – YET (crossing myself).  Do you have anything to add to the list?

Yes, today is the big day.  First day of school.  One in tenth, one in eighth and one in second.  We have a graduation this school year as well as a first Penance and (gulp) First Communion.  It will be a year of highs and lows, from cheers to forgotten lunches and never-ending viruses.  Tears will be included, mostly from me.  But we will prevail.

Walking to the first grade line with my daughter today reminded me of many previous first days of school.  The new book bags, squeaky clean plaid uniforms and the worried email from the teacher.  Yes, that was a first day event that will never be forgotten.  “The year that Michael freaked out the teacher on the first day of school.”

Michael was entering fourth grade that fateful year. It was the first day of school, and I assumed everything was running smoothly.  That is, until I received a very concerned email from his sweet and on the ball new teacher.  The class had been instructed to draw a self portrait.  Michael’s was D-I-S-T-U-R-B-I-N-G.  So much so that the teacher felt she needed to call me.

Is Michael OK?  How does he feel about himself?  Is everything alright at home?

“Yes, good and yes,” I replied.  What was the portrait?  Michael had drawn himself with a pitchfork in one hand, a gun in the other and a knife through his head.  The stunning portrait also portrayed a good amount of blood.  Yup, that’s my boy.  First day of fourth grade in a religious school, and he throws the teacher off just a tiny bit.  “Always keep ‘em guessing,” my son says.  This child is going to BE somebody someday, have no doubt.

I don’t have the original handy.  It is a keeper and has been stored in a VERY safe place.  But I do have a reproduction created by my older brother (also named Michael) upon hearing my son’s story.  It is his own self portrait, penned in the style of Michael’s – and it is NOT very far off from the original.  Enjoy!