Atlee has been out and out begging to go fishing. She wanted to catch a fish, and (ahem)," cut it's head and tail off and cook it in a pan for dinner." Her words, not mine.
Not only am I squeamish...I'm sometimes not so bright. Remember my friend Michele up above? The friend up North that I don't get to talk to very often? I'm in the midst of telling this story to her- right around the part where Atlee clubs the fish- and a distant warning bell began to ring in the back of my noggin. It gets louder and louder until it screams at me, "WHY WOULD YOU TELL MICHELE THIS STORY?? DID YOU FORGET SHE HAS BEEN A VEGAN FOR LIKE THE LAST DECADE???!!! THIS IS A PERSON WHO DOESN'T EAT CHEESE AND YOU'RE TELLING HER ABOUT THE FOUR YEAR OLD WHO CLUBBED A FISH TO DEATH?" Yes, my brain does communicate in all capital letters when it's amazed at my social ineptness. So, um, sorry Michele. I will make sure to omit any discussion of our visit to a slaughterhouse next week. You will get full details on Farmer's Market expeditions.
This is just a happy picture. A picture of a smiling, happy baby. A happy picture of a baby who hasn't made her first kill. Yet.