Shooting Fish in a Barrel

You know that I'm not an outdoorsy girl.  While I make no bones about this, I have been trying to incorporate a few more UV rays into my lifestyle for the sake of my kids.  The little heathens just can't get enough of that irritating "sunshine" and "clean air".

They (and Joel) are obviously better people than I am, and clearly have more well-rounded interests and less pasty skin.  But for all of their wisdom and all of my short-comings, each of these attempts I make further reinforces my opinion that I belong inside the house.  With air conditioning.  Eating ice cream.  Watching the Bachelorette.  (Hooray, TeamJef!)

See?  They're so much better than I am.

But I put my feelings aside on Saturday and loaded the boys into the car so that they could go fishing.  I knew that this activity was a little beyond Graham's ability, but I didn't want to leave him out and I did want to be there to document their excursion.

As soon as we got to the lake, we scouted out a perfect spot that was not only covered with copious amounts of goose poop, but atop a small hill riddled with large rocks and an unstable surface.  You know, the perfect place for a stress-free evening with two inquisitive maniacs with poor balance and a disregard for their own safety.

They tripped.  They covered their faces with dirt and worm guts.  They got tangled in fishing line.  I turned my back and found Cael with his pants around his knees.

After raising the water level, the fishing gear was finally put to use.  Joel dropped a line in for Cael and within seconds, he felt a bite.  Moments later, his first fish was caught.

And within five minutes, nearly as many more fish were captured.

It seems that we stumbled upon a bluegill nest so saturated with fish that it was more of a challenge not to hook one of the little swimmers than to pull one in.

Everyone got in on the action, and even I set aside my girlish ways to cast a line into the bluegill "promised land", although I didn't want to remove from the fish's grasp because it was so, like, totally gross... and wet... and "fishy".

Joel was much more manly, however.

Only a short time into our outdoor adventure, both boys launched into a rock/stick/goose-poop-throwing challenge that I unsuccessfully attempted to squelch.  When a rock grazed my forehead, I plopped Graham down in a sling chair, only to find that while his body could be contained, his irritation with me could not. 

CRACK!!
 

I spun around just quick enough to see my iPhone, the small rectangular device that holds my entire life together, being chucked out of anger toward the lake and landing, hard, on the rocks mere feet from the water's edge.

You can mess with me, or ridicule my blog or say whatever you want about my frizzy, overcolored hair.  But you do not-- DO NOT submerge my iPhone in a lake where my son has just peed.  

I turned on Graham and gave him a death glare (sans words, because at that point none were needed to make my point) that registered anger greater than when he vomited popcorn down my shirt but admittedly less than when Cael dove the motorhome.  Graham erupted into a fit of tears upon realizing his mistake, and I reminded myself exactly why I'm an indoor girl.

But if I hadn't gone, I would have missed the looks of pure excitement and joy on their faces as they reeled in their catches.  I would have missed their giggles and explorations.

I would have missed kisses cooled by the breeze from the lake.

I would have missed this.

And there's no app for that.