Author: Kathleen Fisher

The Big Daddy loves to fish which is why he never misses “River Monsters.”  One episode of River Monsters was about a fish that is so small it can (and will) enter a man’s penis.  I bet you never heard about that one during the Meet and Greet at the club.  Our cottage was on a river that emptied into Lake Michigan.  The Big Daddy kept saying he wondered what was in that river and I told him he ought to dip his pole in there to see.  With a baggie over it just in case.  Or maybe we needed to make a trip to the Wal-Marts so he could buy himself a fishing pole.

A couple of hours later, he was sitting on the dock fishing, happy as could be.  The rest of us let him be because with the exception of a fish swimming up your hoo-hah, it’s a pretty dull sport.  Before long, I could hear The Big Daddy yelling, “GET THE NET!  GET THE NET!  THE BIG ONE!”

Here’s me bringing the BIG net.

Geez, kids, I said, I think your dad just caught Moby Dick.  Instead he landed this:

They kind of look like brothers from different mothers.

He caught more after that.  He said they were about this big:

Seriously?  That Big Daddy sure can tell a tall tale, but the real reason he’s so happy is because he didn’t come home with a freeloader in his pants.

When the Boy Child was in high school, he fell hard for Sara Bareillles and her lovely voice.  She was coming to a club in Kansas City and he begged me to take him since he wasn’t old enough to get in by himself.  I was a very reluctant chaperone.  It had poured that day and I must have asked him five times if he was sure he still wanted to go.  He wasn’t about to let me off the hook.  I was the oldest one there by at least two decades and the place was a dive.  The roof had leaked from the heavy rains and there was standing water all over the place, including the ledge that I set my purse on.  If the fire department or city codes inspector had any idea that people were standing in water on the inside, they would have shut the place down in a hurry.   Good times, real good times.

And then Miss Sara, who was the opening act, came out to sing.  She was charming and humble and sang like an angel, and I thought her mama must be so proud of her.  The Boy Child said told you so and I downloaded his c.d when we got home.  Whenever I hear her, I think about that nite and how the children will lead us if we’re willing to go.

My kids are of an age that requires far more $$$ than highlighters in order to start the school year.   We still have the mega-buck calculator (under threat of serious harm to anyone who loses it) and the backpack does not get replaced unless you make a mighty good case in front of the committee of Mom.  As far as new shoes?  Let me show you the last pair I bought that were worn less than a week.

The ease of getting the kids into school hasn’t always been like this.  Just ask a parent who’s received the godawful school supply list in the mail.

Prang water colors.  Prang water colors have never, ever been used in the history of elementary school, but they make the cut every year.  Your insubordinate Mom won’t be a team player and buy another one?  Well, 2nd grader, we’ll just put a check mark next to that and you can start the first day of school feeling like a loser.

Kleenex.  Best if purchased by the case to supply the classroom, gym, music and art room, and don’t forget the library.  The state can’t afford to shut down Planned Parenthood and provide boogie wipes for all you snotty, little kids.

Red pens.  Let’s grade our neighbor’s paper, shall we?  That would be that Flanders’ kid who will have told everyone in class how dumb your little darling is during recess.  He’s hoping to grow up to be a professional Shit Starter, just like his dad. 

New design of the school tshirt only $15.00.  Sweatshirt a mere $30.00.  Don’t you want Junior to show his school spirit?  That died when he got passed over for the soccer team.  Twice.

PTA enrollment with check.  You are going to join the PTA, aren’t you?  Oh, I thought that was some sort of wacked out religious cult.  No?

The Mob probably learned how to run a racket from the Annual Back to School Shakedown that happens at this time every year.  Stressed out parents and whiney kids populate every aisle of Target buying crap they don’t need and has little to do with them becoming successful.

I bet even The Mighty Big Chief wonders how he ended up on the cover of a writing tablet considering his people likely wrote their answers in the dirt.  His bad……he must not have ordered the pre-pack.

This is the Captain, who is married to my sister.  The Captain loves his boat.  Like he would be a polygamist and marry it if he could.  When we landed on the shores of Lake Michigan, he couldn’t wait to get that thing in the water.

This is the boat that would take us water skiing and tubing.

On the first day, The Captain loaded up the boat with chairs, the cooler, canopy and towels, and he and The Big Daddy drove to the Sand Suburbs and anchored it while the rest of us hiked our way there.  Five minutes after we arrived, he was ready to take some clients out on the water.  So ready that while trying to avoid the anchor rope, he backed up and hit the tow rope which got sucked into the engine and killed it.  Like game over killed it.

This is my sister’s cankle.  She took that cankle down the beach and flagged down some jet skiers who towed The Captain’s disabled boat back to the dock for repair.

This is Teacher Girl’s Prince Charming and he hauled the wagon of crap that came by way of boat through the sand, over the hills and across the bridge back to our cottage.

While he was doing that, The Captain and The Big Daddy got the boat out of the water and into the parking lot of the boat launch to work on it, and once in awhile we could see their heads appear from underneath the boat.

This is the river that The Big Daddy swam across when he needed a knife.  His original plan was to swim back with the knife clenched between his teeth, but he thought better of it when I pointed out the Amish family over on the dock.  Maybe next time, Tarzan. 

With asphalt stuck to their backs, The Captain and The Big Daddy eventually arrived back at our dock with one repaired boat.  That night we went to the movies and saw “Cowboys and Aliens”, but we already knew what kind of hero can kick some ass and save the summer vacation.

The Boy Child kicked the dorm life to the curb this year and is moving into an apartment.  To say he was excited would be putting it mildly.  Why are these kids so damn happy to leave this house?  He and his dad went to get the moving truck and we loaded it up and went on our way.

This is The Boy Child’s room.  When he was in kindergarten, I took him to an estate sale and bought a few things lickety split before he got bored and into trouble.  I saw the sign from an old boat tucked into the corner of the basement, but wasn’t able to hold onto him and the things I already was buying so I left it there.  Oh, but I thought about that sign all morning.  When I dropped him off for the afternoon at school, I made a beeline back to that house.  Please, oh please, oh please still be there.  There it was looking all forlorn and forgotten and I scooped it up and took it to the cashier who couldn’t believe nobody had bought it sooner.  I still love that sign, just like I love the boyness of that room.

This is The Boy Child’s peg rack which yesterday was loaded with hoodies that I would nab when I got cold.  He stripped his room pretty bare and looking at that empty peg rack when I got home made me about as forlorn as that sign waiting for a new home.  I did some dusting and cleaned under the bed.  Then I went into the closet where I found some of his jackets and hung them up so it looks like a boy still lives in this house.

Day Two of our vacation was the wedding of our niece, Meghan to Geoff.  Those two are fun, fun, fun and it doesn’t hurt that they look like they walked out of an Abercrombie ad.  My brother and their mother divorced years ago and he had custody of Meghan and her three siblings.  Several years later, he met Sharon and they married and together raised these kids, which was no easy task.  They’ve weathered their fair share of storms, intact and happy, so it was a lovely thing to see that dad of hers take her for a spin on the dance floor

The family vacation started last Friday with The Big Daddy driving the family to Chicago.  He tends to fancy himself as a pioneer, forging a trail northward for Ma and the Youngins.  We have hitched our wagon to this trail for nineteen long years and The Big Daddy is about making Good Time.  Move along, let’s go, time’s a wasting.  The trip with a stop for lunch takes nine hours, but Pa would love to crack that time and have something to tell the menfolk over the campfire while they’re whittling their pipes. 

Somewhere in Iowa I had to take a bathroom break and The Big Daddy said I’ll just keep the car running while you go in.  That means run that overactive bladder of yours in and out so we stay on schedule.  Back in the car and down the road he says to me, “We should have been at this point at 2:45 instead of 2:52.”  What are you talking about? ” I’m calculating our ETA and now we’re off by seven minutes.”   I’ll be sure to wear Depends from now so you won’t be able to tell if I’m looking out the window or peeing in my diaper. 

Ten miles from our destination and due to arrive thirty minutes early, we came to a screeching halt due to construction.  Like a driver in a NASCAR race, The Big Daddy pulled off the road and bobbed and weaved in search of an alternate route.  Trouble was he was in unfamiliar turf, but it just so happened to be the town where both of my grandmas lived and I knew a little something about the old school ways of getting around before they put in an interstate.  Namely, Route 6.

He will tell you that he was never really trying to beat the nine hour mark, that he wasn’t out to prove anything and that I’m just like my brother when it comes to embellishing a story.  There’s some truth to that.  I’m just saying that like Moses, it was me that delivered my people to the Promised Land.

The only time I’ve not had a dog in my entire life was the five years we lived in Maryland.  When we had to give Clem away when we moved there, I cried and cried and am always on the prowl for a Clem look-a-like. Currently, we have a dog, cat, Boy Child’s hamster and a couple of fish tanks.  Yep, we love the animals.

The other day, I was watching t.v. and a commercial for dog food came on and said, “If you’re a pet parent……….”   What?  I understand the attachment to a pet and I often talk to mine like they’re capable of dispensing advice, but I am not, nor never will be the parent of an animal.  You know the difference when you are a parent, because a dog will not roll its eyes at you, does not make fun of you and so far, is not capable of putting you in a nursing home.  A sick dog will not make you bargain with God to do anything to make it better, including taking you.  A dog wags its tail every time you walk in the door (even if you left a minute ago to take out the garbage) and loves you almost as much as feeding time.  A child, however, will take that comfort zone rug you’ve been laying on all your life, rip it out from under you and while you crawl to get back to it, they’ll have tossed it out the door.

And that’s o.k., because it is youth that changes things, that questions the status quo and puts a mirror in front of you to examine and defend your beliefs, and then slowly changes everything about your life.  While they’re doing what they’re meant to do, we all get pushed forward, for better or worse, and no dog is going to do that.

We are finishing up our fabulous week of vacay with better posts to come next week.  Sorry :(.  I thought I’d be writing away up here, but a girl from land-locked Kansas can’t waste her time doing that when there’s so much lovely water to gaze upon.   In the meantime, I thought I’d post a picture of The Big Daddy in some sweet, little shorts I crocheted just for the occasion.  Oh, he’s a looker all right, but sorry, ladies, he’s taken.