There's something I need to get off of my chest. I wish that there was someone...someone in my family...who would teach our little boys to fish. A grandparent or an aunt/uncle.
This weekend is "free fishing" time in our state, a few days when neither adults nor children require a fishing license. I'll be working long days at the winery while hoping that, at a minimum, the boys aren't in danger while under someone else's care. It would be a luxury to know that they were OUTSIDE, learning valuable life skills like fishing.
I purchased a fishing license yesterday for our 17-year-old who is headed off to work at a camp for the summer. I also bought a machete, boys' underwear, mens' socks, golf balls, and "Jacked" Doritos.
After shopping, we went to the library where the boys borrowed books on such topics as Werewolves and Minecraft. Later we built a "small" bonfire in the backyard, which the boys expanded via the addition of lighter fluid and a school year's worth of papers and folders.
I broke up an air soft gun fight, cleaned 20 matchbox cars out of the tub so that I could shower, and listened to a lengthy description of a scream-o metal concert with highlights like dancing on broken glass, ripped out stud earrings, and an ear-drum smashing first number.
I cleaned up enough dirty dishes to find a small patch of counter underneath, recycled several empty soup cans, fished dirty socks from the couch pillows, picked a box containing a wench off of the kitchen floor, and disposed of the pancakes left in the back of the minivan.
Mine is a boys' world. And when their dad is working out of town, the "boy antics" seem to boil over.
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