Absolutely Bananas: Seattle mom blog

The battle of the tiny merpeople

Last night I dreamt that Jay bought a family of tiny merpeople to live in our aquarium. They were cute in an unsettling sort of way.  Actually they looked a lot like sea monkeys… not how sea monkeys REALLY look but how they were advertised in the back of Archie comic books when we were kids.  Remember?

Anyway, the tiny merpeople-that-looked-like-sea-monkeys kept escaping and THEN they started a full-on aquarium war.  The fish had guns and grenade launchers and the merpeople were really devious and all sorts of water creatures were dying and losing limbs…   

Jay and I stood there looking on in despair because, really, what do you DO about a bloody battle in your aquarium?  For goodness sake fish are dying here but at the same time if you put your hand in the tank it’s likely to get shot off.  

Fortunately I woke up to an aquarium free of tiny merpeople, where action is constrained to Harry and Bumpy slowly swimming in circles.  Goldfish- even the fancy ones- are delightfully UNcomplicated.

Little people, on the other hand?  Complicated.

It makes me wonder if this dream is symbolic of my life in which the little people… well, ONE little person, to be exact… causes me confusion and chaos.  

CJ just keeps getting smarter (and isn’t that what I wanted?) and my brain seems to run slower and I find myself throwing my hands up in despair and rolling my eyes to the heavens stuttering out responses that don’t make any sense.  

Like Friday after school we stayed at the playground so that CJ could play with all the other kids who stay at the playground and all was going well until I hear him hollering at the top of his lungs so I go down to check it out and find him engaged in warfare against a pack of 2nd grade girls.

Girls who, apparently, told CJ that they would dump water on him and tape his mouth shut.

So he tells them that he’s going to put tape on their eyes and ears and then asks me ever-so-sweetly IF I HAVE ANY TAPE.  Because clearly he thinks I will approve of and be party to his little scheme.

Although I am horrified by these events, the truth is I can’t think of a single lucid thing to say.  It is clear that CJ and the girls are all highly enjoying this mock-battle but all I can see is BANISHMENT AND EXPULSION in my little son’s near future.  Because you can’t go around telling girls you’re going to put tape on their eyes, even if it’s all in good fun.

(heavy sigh)

Apparently I have a lot to work on.  

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One other thing… Jay read this post and informed me that it was TOO RANDOM and that I shouldn’t post it. Obviously I rebelled against his opinion.  BECAUSE IT’S MY BLOG AND I CAN!  Ha!  

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Speaking of rebellion, obviously I’ve totally rebelled against my own policy of putting up writing prompts on a weekly basis.  Sorry about that.  I *think* the rebellion has at last subsided and I honestly plan to post a writing prompt next Monday, with the heads-up post on Friday.  Please don’t give up on me!

Speaking of Monday… my fellow Jenny (who, by the way, has one of the cutest blog headers EVER) has picked up the ball on Make Me Laugh Monday.  Head over to her blog for some laughs!

Too many fish and a big old chicken

Something you may or may not know about the Banana family is that we have fish. Two goldfish, to be exact, named Harry and Bumpy.

Harry and Bumpy are the sole survivors of the Great Goldfish Plague of 2007, in which we had goldfish floating belly-up on a very regular basis. Every time we’d get a new fish to replace one that had died the day before, we’d introduce a new malady that would strike down one of the others on the following day. It was a vicious and seemingly endless cycle of death. Until finally, somehow, it stopped and we were left with Harry and Bumpy.

By mutual agreement, Jay is the official aquarium keeper. His responsibilities include cleaning, feeding, and other related tasks. And he’s good at it… at least he seems to be good at it now that the fish have stopped their daily dying.

One evening a few weeks back we made a family trip to a local pet store to look at the animals. It seemed like something fun to do on a rainy and dreary night. After a few minutes under the harsh light of Petco, I decided to run next door really quick to check out the bargains at the OshKosh outlet, leaving Jay and CJ to look at the mice and hamsters and snakes and birds and fish.

Before I left, Jay informed me that he was considering buying another goldfish. Because two is an even number and everyone knows that odd numbers are BETTER for things like art and centerpieces and (of course) goldfish.

“Well, I don’t know,” I told him, “getting a new fish is likely to start the cycle of disease and death all over again. Maybe we should just be happy as we are. I really don’t want Harry and Bumpy to die.”

CJ’s eyes widened at my last statement. He frantically tugged at Jay’s coat and wailed, “DADDY, I don’t want Harry and Bumpy to DIIIIIE!”

Jay scowled at me before leaning down to tell CJ, “they’re NOT going to die. Well, probably.”

He paused and then added, “it’s just that I’d like to have THREE fish. Two is boring.”

“It’s your decision,” I told him, “just know that if you get another fish and the DYING starts again, I BLAME YOU,” with these foreboding words hanging in the air between us, I turned on my heel and headed for OshKosh.

Fifteen minutes later I was standing in the OshKosh checkout line, piles of clothes on each arm, when Jay and CJ stormed in. Jay’s face was dark and angry. Uh oh.

“What happened?” I asked him, “where’s the fish? Did CJ do something? What’s the matter?”

“That woman,” Jay paused and then continued through gritted teeth, “that woman REFUSED to sell me a goldfish.”

I looked at him in surprise. “Huh? Wouldn’t sell you one? Why?”

The sales clerk leaned toward us, curious to hear Jay’s answer.

“She’s one of those BUSY BODY types of women,” Jay explained, “She asked what size tank we have and how many fish and then she said she was sorry but she couldn’t sell us a third fish because that would be too many for our 6 gallon tank.”

He shook his head angrily and muttered, “Idiot.”

“She wouldn’t sell you a fish?” I was struggling to understand. “But she works at a pet store! Isn’t selling pets her MAIN JOB?”

The sales clerk chuckled as he took my credit card and I added, “It’s not like we are looking to buy the thirtieth or even the fifteenth fish for our aquarium. Three goldfish in a six gallon tank is NOT excessive.”

Jay shook his head, “I know.”

“That’s like, like… discrimination or something,” I added, “She can’t refuse to sell you a fish.”

I took my bag of clothes from the cashier and announced, “That woman and I are going to have words.”

Already, in my head, I was practicing how it would go. I would march into Petco and up to that red-vested woman and I would say, “Excuse me, but we are HERE to BUY a FISH.”

And if she gave me any problems, whatsoever, I would fix her with a withering stare and shout, “SELL US THE STUPID FISH YOU MISERABLE WOMAN!”

It was going to be good.

Or else it would be really REALLY bad.

But as we approached Petco, for some strange reason my feet kept right on going, one foot in front of the other, right on past the doors.

Jay looked at me, “I thought you were going to have words with her,” he said.

I sighed. “I know. But maybe it’s a SIGN. I mean, I wasn’t so keen on getting another fish anyhow. You know, with the risk of death and all.” I paused and then continued, “I think it’s better, more constructive, to just veto their store. Forever. We don’t want to buy a fish from that woman. We’ll take our $2 elsewhere.”

Jay nodded and pretended to agree. But he wasn’t fooled.

The truth is that I was chicken.

So we drove home empty-handed to our six-gallon aquarium and two healthy fish. We’ve never tried again to buy a friend for Harry and Bumpy… perhaps taking it as a sign that the two fish is all we’re meant to have.

But every once in a while I think about the fact that somewhere in the greater Seattle area, that woman is denying goldfish to perfectly good men and women. Because I didn’t stop her.

Would you have?

Goldfish 911 Emergency

For the last year, our only pet has been a goldfish named Pierre. While the first several fish perished in the great tainted fishbowl incident of 2006, Pierre survived, grew fat, and prospered. His home was small but he was well fed and happy. And we grew to enjoy each other’s company.

A few weeks ago, when we were experiencing unseasonably rainy days, Jay decided that a perfect activity for the weekend would be to get an aquarium and some fish friends for Pierre.

And so we stopped at our local Petco, picked out a 10 gallon tank, and brought it home. After it was all set up and bubbling, we dropped Pierre in. He was thrilled! Delighted! In fish heaven! He flitted around happily, sniffing the plants and rocks, and generally having a grand old time.

Perfect.

Next we just needed to get Pierre a friend. And so, one day after preschool, CJ and I stopped by Petco again to pick up a bright orange and rather rotund fellow who we named “Frankie the Swimmer.”

It sounds like a mobster name, right? Let me tell you… this guy looked like a mobster! With a big round gut and a funny lump on his head, I always imagined Frankie talking in a heavy Brooklyn accent and saying things like, “Oh yeeah? I’m Frankie the Swimmah!”

To Pierre, Frankie was a dream come true, the friend and confidant he’d always longed for. Our little fish followed Frankie incessantly, wiggling happily and bumping up against him in a display of deep affection.

We noticed that Frankie liked to lay on the bottom of the tank. And then Pierre started to lay down there too. Which was funny, because even when they sleep, all the goldfish I’d seen still floated in the water. How silly! We said to each other, Frankie is totally out of shape! and How cute! Pierre is copying his friend!

But a few days later it stopped being cute and started being worrisome. Frankie and Pierre didn’t look so good. They’d stopped frolicking. And we noticed little white spots covering Frankie’s body. Pierre may have had them too, but they were harder to see against his white scales.

After some frantic internet research, we discovered that our fish had been infected by the ICH, a parasite that preys on fish, embedding in their skin and living off of them. If left untreated, our fish would die.

And so we moved into Goldfish 911 Emergency mode, which is a lot like Grey’s Anatomy only with more water and less interns. My own Dr. McDreamy added salt to the bowl (as per the internet instructions) and we waited with bated breath to see improvement.

Only there wasn’t improvement, at least not fast enough. We woke the next day to find Frankie belly up. After a solemn memorial ceremony around the toilet, we flushed him to his watery grave. We were sorry to see him go, but after all he was the carrier that brought the cursed parasites, so we didn’t feel that bad.

Pierre, on the other hand, was our darling. He was family. And we watched over him in nervous anticipation. He didn’t look so good.

Jay said to me one night as we were getting ready for bed, “I don’t WANT Pierre to die. I’ve gotten really fond of the little guy.”

Me too. And I’m glad to be married to a man who can become bonded to a goldfish. It’s an excellent sign of character, I think.

And then, slowly, Pierre started to come around. Today he’s almost back to his old self. Eating, swimming, and no laying on the bottom.

So, in closing, there’s just a couple things that need to be said.

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You can learn a lot from a goldfish

Our household has just one pet. That’s all we can handle.

Pierre, a FANCY goldfish, has stuck with us for a whole year. Through thick and thin, missed feedings and the occasional water-so-dirty-you-can-hardly-see-through-it. He’s a special little guy, mostly white, with a big orange lump on his head.

Although… lately we’ve noticed the lump is getting whiter and whiter, so that anymore it just has a teeny bit of orange. Is this what happens to goldfish when they age? Is Pierre “greying”?

Anyhow, the other night when Jay was cleaning Pierre’s goldfish bowl, I took one look at the plasticky plant and the blue decorative fish and announced that Pierre’s furnishings needed to be replaced. They were yucky; covered with mold and rather slimey.

Sure, Pierre probably liked them that way. But Pierre’s not in charge here, I am (Sorry Pierre).

So into the trash they went, and then CJ and I went to Petco to pick out fresh shiny and CLEAN replacements. We picked out a nice plant and a cool rock that has holes for Pierre to swim through (Think of the FUN he’ll have! Frolicking in and out! Peeking through the crevices! He can SLEEP in there, even!)

So last night I excitedly inserted the items into Pierre’s home. I couldn’t wait to see his reaction. Let the frolicking BEGIN!

Much to my surprise, Pierre was NOT excited by his new decor. He swam nervously in circles around the top of the bowl, his little mouth making rapid oh’s as he sucked water in a panicked fashion. And for the entire evening, he has carefully avoided the new plant and rock. This is an accomplishment, given the size of his fishbowl.

Now I’m not super well-versed in goldfish, but I’ve lived with Pierre long enough to recognize his basic states; when he’s happy, lazy, barely breathing (not cleaning the water often enough will do that to a fish). This time I was seeing a whole new emotion, panic.

Could it be true? Are goldfish more like people than we thought? Has Pierre become so set in his ways, so comfortable with his things the way that they’ve always been that change is enough to send him off the deep end?

Will he get used to his new home, or is it possible that THIS CHANGE could be enough to (gasp) be his demise?

And it makes me realize… we all have our moments like Pierre. Moments where our little fishbowl suddenly changes around us, sending us into a state of panic where we can hardly breathe from the sheer terror; the complete foreignness of it all. But we have a choice. Change is hard, sure, but swimming in circles around the top of the bowl isn’t going to get us anywhere. What if we DIVE IN… explore… it might actually be better!

You know, Pierre’s little experience isn’t so different from my transition from a career to staying at home… or bringing CJ home from the hospital… or the day I found out I was pregnant AND Jay lost his job. These things have a way of working out IF you work them out.

Yes, these are the thoughts that fill my mind while I’m half-heartedly picking up toys and folding laundry. Solving world hunger I am not. But where one little goldfish is concerned, at least I care. Sort of.

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