New Pets

Call me Mother of the Year.

It's been a good weekend. We relaxed with the family, celebrated soon-to-be-born life (not my baby, BFF's), and learned that Nana is a sucker for her grandson. Or I'm the sucker. I'll let you decide.

Yesterday being the Fourth of July, Boomer and I decided it was our patriotic duty to barbeque. Being of mischievous minds, we invited Nana and Papa over. The icing on the proverbial cake was the hometown mini-festival. Add one Peanut, and watch what happens.

It rained. All freaking day. And Peanut celebrated by waking up at 5:00 a.m. Figures.

So after our hour-long "go back to sleep, Peanut; it's too early to wake up" discussion, Boy Wonder finally crashes in our bed until 9:00. The rain eased to a drizzle long enough for Boomer to grill, and we finally decide after a futile attempt at a nap to hit the festival. Which was right about when the it started raining harder. And nearly everything was packed up. Except the fish game.

A friend whom I've not seen in a couple of months was there and I fell into conversation with her. Peanut found the fling a ping-pong ball into a small bowl with fish booth and pulled Nana toward it. The kid was on a mission: win fish. Nana was on a mission: spoil grandchild. I need to be on a mission: quit trusting Nana.

Sure enough, Peanut came scampering over, clutching a take-out container holding his three new pets: Bait One, Bait Two, and Bait Three. My friend started chuckling at the look on my face. For the record, we did not have a fishbowl in our house. Note past tense. I was to find out that Peanut's first two attempts to fling and win were unsuccessful, and Nana, in an effort to be helpful, guided Peanut to victory. Literally. Her hand was on his when the ball landed in the water. She claims she couldn't say no. I claim she had no problem with that word when I was growing up, and I have no problem with it now. Apparently, my child is used against me for payback. Figures.

So now we are the proud owners of three goldfish and one bowl, courtesy of the Grandparents Who Can't Say No. And now Papa is talking about a hermit crab.

Call me Mother of the Year.