I doubled booked a Gigi gig. The times didn’t overlap, so it was nice to have some one on one time with each of the kindergarten grandsons, but it must have been a full moon, as I was off kilter more than usual.
Hank William, as his name implies, likes to fish. Gavin, his cousin, is only interested in the worms or bugs he can discover in the mud, so fishing was on the agenda for Hank’s entertainment.
With his pole and tackle box in tow we headed to the pond. He was going through lures quickly so I retrieved the Barbie pole from the garage, just so he could continue fishing while I was re-rigging. After digging through his tackle box, he came up with a three-pronged shiny lure his dad had given him. Even though he argued the real worm on the Barbie pole would never catch anything, he cast it anyway, since his pole wasn’t ready.
“Where’s that lure,” I asked him after searching all over and couldn’t find his “luckiest lure in the world.” He didn’t answer because at the same moment the Barbie pole was arching like nobody’s business and I could see a fight ensuing with a largemouth bass. When I lifted up my arm to help him pull it in, the lucky lure was embedded in my shirt, under my armpit.
“Help me Gigi,” Hank screamed, “it’s the big one.” Frantically trying to get loose from the lure, I ripped my shirt to help him bring in a nice bass. We took pictures and it was time for the fish to get back in the water. I gave the fish a nice throw, but unfortunately he landed in the mud, and by this time his gills were working overtime trying to survive.
“Don’t let him die,” he pleaded, looking frantic. I took one step into the mud and realized this wasn’t going to end well. I retrieved the fish. He swam away, but I was stuck. By the time I made my way out of the mud it was covering both arms and legs and one shoe was missing. This memory will last Hank a lifetime as it’s the first thing he told his parents, and I’m sure has been repeated several times at recess.
I was looking forward to a relaxing evening watching Gavin play Minecraft. After he went to bed and I couldn’t figure out how to change the game controller to watch TV. I decided to give it a go myself. I’d been watching him play for the last hour.
There are two handles on the back of the controller which can be pulled forward. I don’t know why I did it, but I did, and his Minecraft guy fell into a deep, dark hole and I spent the next hour trying to get him out. Not even close to being successful, I passed off the remote to my daughter when she got home. She figured it out and saved the day, but I bet I won’t see that controller again anytime soon.
A day of mud and Minecraft. It just doesn’t get any better.
Sandy Turner is a GateHouse Media columnist.