Gone fishin'

Yep, that about sums it up!

This morning, at about 615 in the wee hours of the morning, Finn springs out of bed and, after a brief snuggle, asks to work on her spelling (she's always most creative first thing in the morning). I say sure, why not?! She disappears around the corner for a moment and I hear the click of the cupboard doors opening, some rummaging around, something that sounds like a bag of hundreds of little, muted clicks and scrapes. I wonder what the heck she's doing. Moments later, she comes determinedly around the corner, strides over to the table and plunks down the Bananagrams bag.

What Google thinks "Giiveakruzo" is...

At this point, brother is very into whatever it is sister's doing - it doesn't really matter what she's doing, he wants to be a part of it. They spill out the letters on the table then decide they don't have enough room to work so put them all back into the bag and set themselves to work. Little man throws himself wholeheartedly into working on his spelling (apparently he knows Russian?!) and spells out, in a very orderly manner, "Giiveakruzo" which means...well, I couldn't really understand what he very animatedly described to me that it meant. But that's OK because, in his mind's eye, it was totally profound (see another recent post on that, here). A quick Google search yielded the Russian translation for Robinson Crusoe. Given that epic adventure story, it wouldn't at all surprise me if in his breathless excitement and animated description, he just told me the whole thing in those 40 short seconds - that kid was on fire!

Speaking of which...

An early morning of spelling with Bananagrams.

The first thing Finn spells out is "The house is burned down" and I can't help but take pause after seeing it. Say what? How's that again? She smiles sweetly up at me, excuses herself from the table, skitters off back around the corner only to return a moment later with a pad of paper and a pencil - she's going to write down what she spelled out and take it in to show her teacher (and let me tell you, she's beaming with pride at that moment!). After satisfying herself that she transcribed her sentence correctly, she picks up her letters, places them back in the bag, mixes them all up (to which she appears to get great enjoyment out of) and draws out another handful. She puzzles over them for a moment, then starts spelling out something. She doesn't have all the letters she needs so I hear her bartering with LJ for some of his letters. It almost (aaalmost) descends into a sibling brawl but somehow, they right the ship, agree to the terms of their exchange, and both are once again satisfied. A moment later, Cat asks her what she's working on and she says, quite resolutely, "Finn is going fishing."

Alrighty then! Guess this girl knows her mind!

Given how much she's already expressed her love of fishing, I have a feeling we'll be seeing or hearing more of that phrase from her over the years.

Fish on...

The night fishin sheriff

 I hear little man making noise in his room long after bedtime so I go in and find...sister passed out, a lamp on, a measuring tape under the edge of his covers, his cowboy hat tossed in in the corner of his bed, his sheriff's badge and belt at his feet, his bow and arrow half unstrung, the arrow string tied around his knight's helmet, and a little boy peeking out at me from under the covers. He says to me, in ever so soft a voice and with a glint in his eye and a slight smile on his face, "I'm fichin (fishin), Papa."

What's a fisherman Papa to do?!

I half-heartedly scold him, turn out the light, tuck him in, kiss him on his head and tell him I love him. As I was typing this, I decided to check back in on him. In a matter of less than five minutes, he has totally sacked out but the butt of his 'fishing pole' is tucked under his back while the tip is still hanging, line and all, over the edge of his bed...still fishin.

That's enough to warm a fella's heart.

Moon Fishin'...and Jesus

From Dreamworks Animation

This morning my little guy comes to the door of my room at o'dark thirty and whispers, "Papa, I see Jesus fishin' outside." In a fog I say something to the effect of "huh?" He, hearing my confusion, asks to come in and snuggle and show me what he's talking about. I agree and he climbs up on my bed, standing at my head and looking out the window. He proceeds to whisper that I should join him in looking out the window at the quarter moon where Jesus has, apparently, been fishing all night...but I need to be very quiet so I don't scare him away. I rise to my knees, peer out the window at the waning crescent sliver of a moon and it looks beautiful in the clear night sky filled to overflowing with stars, the faintest of light starting to color the sky a deep, dark blue. Jeremiah says to me, "See Him, Papa?" I do not but that's OK. He does. And in his mind, that's really all that matters right now. I'm just glad I got to share this little moment with him.