Far too much apparently. We’re pretty much over the yucks, but now we have Olympic Fever, so I’m still kind of lacking in the whole motivation to blog department, but this happened last night so I figured I would share.
Soapfi is in the midst of another round of “I can do it”, this time with the added caveat of “all myself”. So it has generated many a frustrating moment for her. Last night she was attempting to put the plastic shoes back on her Calliou doll and was having a rough go of it – they aren’t super hard plastic, but they are still a pain in the azz even for Mommy & Daddy to get on and off his feet, which are the size of the great white north.
After about 90 seconds of frustration she hurls the shoes and the doll across the room, mutters FUDGE (only just like in The Christmas Story she didn’t really say fudge, but instead let slip the mother of all swear words), and buries her head in the carpet and begins to cry.
Of course I’m one of those uncouth parents caught between laughing hysterically because at 2.25 years old she is already only swearing at situationally appropriate times, and with a great deal of panache, being mortified because she might do this in public and it will reflect badly on me & Daddy, and then being indignant that people get so riled up about words they have made taboo because sometimes you just need a good bout of swearing to let it all out.
In the end we let it go without comment, dealt with the frustration and the shoes, and are desperately trying to watch our own potty mouths.
So we decided to take Soapfi to a trout farm to try our luck at fishin’. We were probably attempting to squeeze too much into the day, but it’s something Daddy had been itching to try for quite a while. So we piled into the car and headed out to The Gold Creek Trout Farm. It was drizzling so when we arrived we had the place to ourselves. We ooh’d and aah’d at the different ponds with the different sized fish and equipped ourselves with a bamboo pole – complete with hook, bait, bucket, and net.
Soapfi liked dipping the end of the pole in the water, but wasn’t all that interested in holding on with both hands, so it quickly became “watch Daddy fish” day. Unfortunately, Daddy’s Polish was showing and he was not having much luck. Trying to give Daddy some space and not make him feel like we were all watching him expectantly, Soapfi and I tromped down to the pool with the smallest trout – you couldn’t actually fish for them, but for a quarter you could get some fish food from the recycled bubble gum machine and feed them.
After deciding she was scared of all the squirmy fish when they would attack the food (and who could blame her) we wandered back over to Daddy who had moved from the pool with the medium sized trout to the pool with the large trout. Sadly, Daddy hadn’t been doing very well – he was getting lots of bites, but wasn’t able to land anything. And now he was frustrated, and became very grumbly when the lady from the trout farm tried to come over an help, because all he heard was “blah blah blah, you’re doing it wrong, blah blah blah”.
So I offered to try for awhile if he’d watch Soapfi, just to give him a break from the frustration. I’m not sure if this helped or hurt in the long run, because two casts later I had 16 1/2 inches of dinner in a bucket. And to make matters worse, a birthday party showed up and within five minutes a whole bunch of nine year olds were landing fish right and left.
We left as fast as possible because Daddy was looking like he was going to start kicking things. In the end though Daddy did admit it was one tasty fish!