Circus of Life

Call me Mother of the Year.

Last week began Peanut's adventure in owning fish. Fish with remarkably short life spans. After Grammy finally stopped laughing, she pointed out that perhaps we should have gone with a small aquarium rather than a fishbowl. Boomer pointed out that if she really felt that way, she could buy it. I pointed out that I'm not terribly interested in multiple burials at sea. Luckily, that hasn't been my lot.

As predicted by Nana, fish death happened fairly quickly. I suspect this is due in no small part to carnival fish being sick anyway, but this was helped by fish getting fat in the water. I wasn't responsible for fish meals; blame the guys. Bait the Third, smallest of the fish, was the first to go. It lasted all of four days. Bait the First died after the Ritual Cleansing, which Peanut was more than happy to attempt "all by myself!" Suffice it to say he was the Official Helper to Daddy. Bait the Second was the last, hanging on for over a week. I'm sure he died of a broken heart and overfull stomach.

The only good thing about this is that Peanut was asleep all three times death was discovered. Good thing Boomer gets up before the crack of dawn. At least we were spared the bathroom funeral; after all the time we've spent on potty training, I don't want to think about Peanut's objections against using that toilet again. Instead, we had the respectful Ziplock in garbage can option. Our trash guy is going to love us this week.

The funny thing is, Peanut is seemingly unconcerned. He's wondering if the fish swam away, or (my favorite) they somehow got out of the bowl. If he asks for more fish, I'm certain grandparents will be happy to fund this project. Otherwise, I'm good letting the fishbowl go empty for now.

Call me Mother of the Year.