One of the many challenges of having three kids is getting a chance for each to feel special. Liv’s old enough to get invited to sleepovers, and more importantly, old enough to make it through the night at someone else’s house. Jake gets lots of one-on-one time as a simple function of his autism and related needs, appointments, therapies, etc.
This means that Daddy’s littlest man gets left out. None of his seven year old buddies are quite up to sleepovers, and the neighborhood is chock full of little girls. He was feeling a little glum tonight so we planned some “guy time.”
We live in northern Maine, which means there’s a fishin’ hole within 10 minutes, guaranteed. After dinner dishes, we packed our poles, grabbed some worms, and struck out. We decided to spice things up with some competition and trash talk. There were three categories: first fish, biggest fish, most fish. All in all, we spent about an hour before we were driven home in equal parts by darkness and mosquitoes. I got first fish, Gabe clearly won biggest fish, and I lucked out by catching the most. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he spent half of his time untangling his line, or un-catching the bottom.
Of course, the fish weren’t the reason we were out. We laughed, joked, teased, and drew closer to one another. No electronics, no distractions, no icky girls. Just a couple dudes catching some white perch.