The day I tried to murder a fish

We have four fish.

Aubrey was given a fish tank for her third birthday, one in which we allowed our fish to gorge themselves and die at an alarming rate. After one too many dead fish we gave up on the tank and put it in storage. It has been there for three years.

A few months ago Greg tried to sneak the tank out for Goodwill. It was spotted. Pleading ensued. We now have four fish, one for each kid. Current names are Bun-bun, Wally, Lolly, and Fireball. (Fireball had a predecessor, Alexander, who promptly died.)

A few days ago I decided that if our fish were to survive I had to clean the tank. The kids thought this was a terribly exciting. After lugging the tank into the kitchen I began the whole process, four little people excitedly watching.

I removed the fish to a temporary holding tank. I cleaned the tank. I cleaned the rocks in the tank. I scrubbed the castle in the tank. I wondered how I had gotten talked into fish. I filled the tank, lovingly dropped in the anti-chlorine drops, and got ready to return the fish. Almost done.

THREE FISH were in the tank. I was literally on that last fish, THE LAST FISH, when the stupid thing got all floppy in the retrieval net and hurled itself into space, falling at least 100 fishy stories off the counter onto the floor.

The subsequent pandemonium is indescribable. Nathan sank to his knees, sobbing and wailing, before sprinting down the hall to his room. Aubrey jumped up and down in the kitchen, screaming for me to DO SOMETHING, DO SOMETHING!! Dane curled up in a ball on the floor, alternately crying softly and screaming. Johanna ran away in fear, mostly because surely something horrible was happening given the other three reactions. I looked everywhere for the adult who was going to handle the flopping fish and only came up with me.

I didn't want to actually touch the fish and yet I couldn't let it lay there and die. I kept trying to scoop it up but it was jumpy and disgusting and kept flopping away from me. Plus, I wanted to pick it up gently, so as not to squish it, although I was sure the internal bleeding from that fall was doing the job for me. I finally had to let it drown enough in air that it stopped flailing around. I then TOUCHED IT, got it on a spoon, and dumped it back in the tank.

What do you know, it seemed fine! It swam around the tank like a demon possessed eel for a while but kept moving. I was sure it was going to keel over any moment but as the minutes passed my confidence grew. I coaxed the kids back to the kitchen to see what a hero I was for saving the fish. Nathan told me he had "never seen anything so scary." They all wanted to know whose fish it was. I assured them it was Johanna's (as if I really knew) and that it seemed okay. I tempered that comment with a good shot of honesty (Kids, it could die at any moment). The kids told me to never do that again and I said that was fine with me, Daddy could have this job.

I think the fish were his idea anyways.

p.s. Five days later, the fish still lives!

The wisdom of a father

Dane looked up casually from his lunch today and said, "I'd like to hear more Easy Lover."

Thank you Greg for introducing our children to mildly inappropriate Phil Collins music.

Do you hear what I hear?

These are a few things that I heard today.

In an intense moment of imaginative play, Aubrey exclaimed that her stuffed puppy, Boltina, was having SUCH A HARD TIME giving up cigarettes. Will this topic never cease to haunt me?

Johanna snuggled up to Aubrey in bed tonight, binky in mouth and purple blanket in hands, while Aubrey read her three Dr. Seuss books. At the end of each book Johanna would say, "More please Aubee."

Dane asked me to say, "Dane, why are your fish (toys) able to swim in the air?" After doing as I was told Dane said, "Because it isn't air, it's water, and you just don't know it."

After looking through a National Geographic article about Saturn Aubrey said, "It makes sense that Saturn has so many moons. It's so big and such a large mass would make it have A LOT of gravity. It probably sucks in big rocks from the asteroid belt." You're darn right I'll take some credit for that one!

Tonight I asked Nathan if he knew how much I loved him and he said, "One billion and one." WRONG KIDDO! It's more.

Greg, currently yelling coaching tips at the NBA game he is watching while working out. It's a basement full of man sounds.

The "What If" Game

Nathan, our curious question asker, asks a constant stream of "what if" questions. He is sincere in the asking but grows frustrated by my answers. My excuse? THEY ARE UNANSWERABLE. I always make an attempt at a real answer, in an effort to not squash his curiosity, but one mom can only reserve a small percentage of her brain for such conversations. And Nathan? You need to know that my mind is always engaged in the simultaneous effort of figuring out an idea for dinner, a better way to teach double digit subtraction, that Valentine's Day needs my attention, where did I put my phone/keys/glass of water/Johanna, and have I scheduled the latest well child appointment. There is only so much I can do.


Below, a sample of true "what if" questions, courtesy of Nathan.

What if a chimney looked like a castle? (?????)
What if you were the slowest driver ever? What if you didn't know how to speed up?
What if dragons were really extinct instead of not real?
What if you liked basketball as much as Daddy? (I answered, "You'd never get a hot meal during NBA season.")
What if for my birthday you gave me a surprise party but I wasn't surprised and I cried?
What if I had ten small toots instead of one giant toot?
What if I could never get clean, even in the bath?
What if I was older than Aubrey?

Tip of the iceberg I tell you. TIP OF THE ICEBERG.