My kids have been accustomed to a pretty boring life at home with Mommy. Suddenly we're out all the time as I go from meeting to meeting to meeting. Last week the first day we got to stay at home was Friday. FRIDAY!!! My poor kids had somewhere to go 6 out of 7 days.
It's not just our schedule. They notice the absence of Daddy. They don't like it. It makes them anxious.
To top it all off, we had to get rid of their turtle. Teddy's buddy, PJ, died a few weeks ago leaving him the sole inhabitant of a 150-gallon fish tank. Ludicrous, really. The turtle had a greater percentage of personal space in our house than I did. Add to that the fact that I never maintained the tank. That was my ex's job. (We each brought baggage into our marriage: he came with a fish tank; I came with a horse . . . well, two horses!)
In seven years of marriage I hadn't learned to clean the tank. I wasn't about to now. Besides, that tank was expensive! It had a giant filter that ran 24/7 and lights that ran about 12/7. On my new shoestring budget, I couldn't justify throwing money at something I knew I was not going to be able to handle.
So Teddy had to go. My son was heartbroken. Over the past couple months, we've been talking about releasing him back in the wild where we found him and how excited he would be and how he would get the chance to have a family. I, being a little more jaded, had a sick feeling he'd be dead in a week, but since his buddy had died in our care, I reminded myself he was just as safe in the wild as in our house.
On Mother's Day, before church, Daddy joined us to release him. My son was very sad, but Teddy really did seem to know he was home and was happy to leave his captors behind. I was glad to think that if he did die, he'd die free . . . and there's something to be said for that.
To ease the pain of the separation, I did a very foolish thing. I promised the kids they could get a Betta fish. How hard could that be? It lives in a bowl. No filter. No heater. No lights. Easy.
Tonight Nick came with us, and we got the kids their fish. Make that two fish. Yeah. That was Daddy's idea. Rather than one cute glass bowl with a peace plant, we'd get the plastic divided one for $12. It came with a lid (no waking up to dead fish on the floor where HE jumped looking for freedom), and both kids could have a pet. (Mind you, we already have two hairy dogs each weighing over 50 pounds . . . don't they qualify as pets? I do not know what I was thinking.)
It's OK. After all, it's still only one tank. Technically.
Now, of course, there's no peace plant, and the tank only comes with one fake plant. We had to get something for the other side. My son picked out a tiny shipwreck. I should have known right then!
I knew we needed food. But what kind? Flakes? Pellets? Crunches? (What is this . . . the Stop & Shop cereal aisle?!) Then I spot fish saver . . . to heal the skin and fins of Betta fish. (What am I getting myself into?!!!) And last, but certainly not least, don't forget the water conditioner.
Good grief.
The girl at the counter realized I was stymied . . . it couldn't possibly have been the glazed expression in my eyes or the drool running down my chin, could it? She carefully walked us through the entire process. The kids picked out their two fish and named them on the spot. Sharky for him; PT for her. The counter girl dumped each into a plastic bag, and led us to the counter.
A young guy (but they all look young to me now!) carefully took out our plastic tank and inspected it for cracks, finally declaring it sound. We paid.
We had supper and a separate adventure that one day may figure into another blog, but not this one. We went home.
Per instructions, we rinsed all the gear off in very hot water (no detergent). Next we had to figure out how to get the fish into the bowl. Nick did some magic with the bags, gently scooted Sharky into one half and PT into the other half, and we were golden.
Almost.
I looked at the kitchen table, and it appeared that there was a puddle growing near the tank. At first I thought it was drippage from the rinsing. Oh no. There's a one-inch crack . . . and it's full-out leaking. Apparently my husband had dropped the tank at some point.
I suddenly wished I had kept my big mouth shut about a replacement pet in the first place. My parents never soothed my losses with presents. Good Yankee farm kids were taught to suck it up. Why, oh why, had I bought into the touchy-feely, support-your-kids'-emotional life message???
Too late now, Mom. Suck it up!
But Moms are brilliant. They also tend to hoard vases. I do, anyway. Down came two of my largest vases. (My poor ex is sitting with a sick expression on his face saying, "I can't win.") I rinsed them with very hot water (no detergent!). Here things got a little trickier. How do we get both fish into their new tanks without leaving one high and dry? Nick managed it with his very large hands. All was well.
Except for one thing. The lid. I know many people keep Betta fish for long periods of time in open bowls. I, however, know people who lost them to kamikaze leaps from an open bowl, and I do NOT want another emotional loss for my kids at this particular time.
No problem. I pulled out some cheese cloth and a couple elastics. Custom-made, vented, fitted lids. They look a little tacky and will probably be a hassle when I go to feed them in the morning, but such is life. Maybe in a few days I'll wash off some of my bamboo and stick them in the vases, trusting the foliage to keep my fish friends contained. In the meantime, I have some lovely decorations for my kitchen table.
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