A fish tale (of sorts)

If you know me personally or have read my blog for any length of time (don't all three of you wave at once) then you know the incredible way that Brandon appeared in our lives and was grafted to our family tree.

Fast forward.

Brandon will be 3 in December. Three! Goodness, it's the most true cliche out there; they grow up so fast (I tell mine all the time to "stop growing this very instant", but kids being kids, they never listen.) Brandon is a character, let me tell you. He's very smart and able, 'gets' humor (it's a hoot to share a funny with him because he truly gets it), and he is independent in ways that our other children weren't at the same age. I suppose he's farther along developmentally because of the age gap between him and his older siblings? It's my best guess anyway. But it makes interacting with him a lot of fun.

Tonight, Brandon asked me to play Let's Go Fishing with him. It's a battery operated game where little plastic fish open and close their mouths as the "pond" spins, while you try to catch them with a tiny plastic fishing pole. Oh believe it, I looove playing this game (not really, but more than Old Maid anyway.)

So we got things set up and Brandon began to run the show almost immediately.
"Dis is my pole. It's not broe-kin."
I'm thinking, "What the heck, he gets the good pole?" I immediately had reason to believe I was going to be fishing for plastic fish with a toothpick. Not off to such a good start, know what I mean? And that's when he shoved a dinky plastic yellow pole in my hand and commanded, "Dis is yowze, Momma. You fish heeuw!" whereby he literally pointed to my "area" of the pond.

Great.

Just great.

I've been banned to a specific "spot."

In a plastic pond.

Kid's taking this game waaaay too seriously.

And tell me, do you think that's where the fish are known to be biting? Oh, I'm certain not.

(Let me interject something at this point; Why is it that all toddlers sound like Asian elderly men speaking broken English? "I tell you go NOW," or, "I no play wit you any more." 'Nuff said.)

Okay, so. I was sitting there (in my "spot" and all) contemplating the many skills needed to be an almost 3 year old master angler (which basically, as I see it, amounts to controlling the game and getting away with it) when he suddenly flicked on a switch to start the action, then quickly demanded, "Wait!"

Wait???
Did he just start the game and demand that I wait?
Oh no he did NOT tell me to wait,...only to proceed to fish his little heart out,...right?

Oh. Yes. He. Did. Too.

Every time I attempted to stick my stinkin' toothpick pole in the pond, he whined convincingly, "No, momma. You wait!"

Okay, what the heck am I waiting for?
Because seriously?
I'm ready to catch me some plastic walleye already.
But nooOOoo! Mr. Tiny Tyrant 2009 has not granted "permission" to enter the plastic pond.
So I sat miserably on the bank, losing the "early cast" advantage, while Brandon proceeded to rack up a score of THREE-ZIP before he'd even entertain the thought of allowing me to enter the pond.

Finally, he gave me the green light and away I went, putting my years of trout and walleye fishing to the test. Could I do it? Could I catch up to Mr. Advantage or was I destined to tell the proverbial tale of the one who got away?

Oh no, it's o-o-o-o-on!

I fished and I fished. And I caught some too. And it even appeared at one point that I might at least tie for the big plastic win.

That is, until Brandon decided that wasn't ever going to happen. He started with a little something I like to call the whine tactic.
"StooOOoop, Momma. Stop dat wight now. You don't catch doze fish, okay Momma?"
But I tell you, it's hard NOT to catch plastic fish when you've been an angler for many years. It's in my blood, I tell you. Like a hunting dog who just has to fetch the duck from the pond because it's what he does, I had to catch those fish. And I had to make up for lost time in the pond too.

That's when Brandon pulled out the heavy guns.
Enter....the man handle. In a moment of clear frustration with the gains I had made (even though he had done everything in his toddlerhood power to give himself the advantage), he reached for his secret weapon, the dreaded men handle.
Grumbling and with eyebrows scowling, he barked, "Dis fish won't git on my pole!" And with skill and timing that would rival any Bill Dance fisherman, he grabbed a plastic fish by its googly head and man handled him right out of the plastic pond.

No pole.

No fisherman's patience or luck.

A total man handle.

Score one for the little guy.

Then, to make my own fate sealed even more, he gloated, "Haha! I got DIS one wiiiight heaw. You don't haff dis many, do you, Momma! And you don't catch deeze eeder, okay? You oniy catch duh pink ones."

Come again?
Did my boy just pull the "traditional roles" card on me, banning me, a woman, to the pink fish only?
Are you kidding me?
Hmmmf!

I tell you, it's a lonely spot on the plastic pond when you're banned to the area where the action is nil and you're limited to a pink catch only.
Need I tell you who won?

Like I said, this boy's sharp. No wool growing over his eyes. But I'm going to have to teach him a lesson or two where his little attitude is concerned. I'm thinking a pole in the "big pond" might be just what the doctor ordered.

Ever see a 3 year old try to bring in a real walleye?

HA HA! (evil grin)

I'm just sayin'.

Toni