Chummin' for Crappie

So I have this son. He's 9 months old now. He's quite a treat, learning his way around the world and all. Sometimes "quite a treat" means, "aww how cute!" and other times it is more like a non-healthy eye twitch that is hiding rage. You know. All that good fatherly stuff. He's mobile now, able to get from room to room quite quickly and stealth is one of his superpowers. Oddly it seems the more rum & cokes I have the more stealthy he becomes. Perhaps he is putting kryptonite in my rum. Or my coke. Or maybe he dips the straws in liquid kryptonite. Regardless.

He loves water. No big surprise, we live on a small patch of land surrounded by water. Bathtime is the best time. Good things come in liquid packages and all that stuff. His problem is his height. He's only a foot and a half, maybe pushing two feet tall, so he isn't able to reach most of the good water areas. He's just about tall enough to get into the bathtub by himself but considering we don't keep it filled with liquid he doesn't tend to gravitate that way. The sinks are all far out of his reach but he does love ol Dad to hold him up there to do some hand and arm washing after he hits his main waterhole.

I call this Chummin' for Crappie^™. The wife refers to it as "fishing" and sometimes "freshwater fishing." I'm trying to think of more euphemisms since mine is getting smelly, like an old fish. Perhaps something along the lines of "Angling the White Perch (pun intended)^™."