Mickey has a good strong constitution and has survived the water changing incidences. Since the breed is originally from Thailand (Siam) and used to warmth, I got the brilliant idea of putting him in the lounge room, which gets very warm thanks to the afternoon sun. He is not completely satisfied though and has put in a complaint that in my hurry to ‘save his life’ I put him in a bowl without dusting it. Am now considering how to change his water so he has a cleaner living environment.
A few weekends ago on 10/10/10 my cousin Jacquie got married. It was a gorgeous day and in the tradition of family weddings and funerals, a great time to catch up with the extended family.
We have a momento of the wedding now. Well, two if you also count which wasn’t the lovely coaster bonbonniere’s. The table centrepieces were a vase that contained a fish. There was a lovely letter next to the vase asking people to provide a home for the fish after the reception had ended.
My sister decided that the J bomb needed a new fish. I tried in vain to remind her the reason the fish tank was unoccupied at our house is a sad tale, that would have any innocent fish shuddering, and may possibly scar their 3 second memory. Then I claimed that we couldn’t take the fish, because we weren’t going home directly, but rather to Bundaberg and a 9 hour drive to get home would not be helpful for the fish. She kindly offered to transport the fish home. The fish looked lonely and unwanted. I gave in. Mickey was coming home with us. I have no idea who Minnie went home with.
I thought that perhaps Mickey may not get to reside in our place, my nephew became quite attached to him. Unfortunately the brother-in-law is able to resist my sister’s compelling arguments more than I can, and once the fish had the happy occassion of going to school for show and tell, he has now become a resident at our house.
On his trip home, we had a brief stop where I talked to my other sister who said the Betta fish – Siamese fighting fish – preferred warm water. Unfortunately our tank is not warm and cosy. Unfortunately I did not share this information with The Accountant in time. Unfortunately Mickey was deposited in the tank. I left him there for a few hours hoping that he might acclimatise. You never know, maybe he would grow an extra set of scales as a substitute for a woolly jumper. Alas, when I checked on him before bed, the fish was in what I now call “The Dying Corner”.
We have had three batches of goldfish. They are all now deceased. First there was Bibble, Bobble, Bubble and Boo. Then there was Captain, Admiral, Skipper and Kamikaze. The last tank residents were the fish that we bought on the day of the 2010 elections. Farley, Gilly, Abby and Libby. Despite being blessed with such fabulous goldfish names they were not long in this world. We have checked Ph, water levels, put anti-biotics in the water, etc. But the reason for the appalling mortality rates remain a mystery.
So, last night when I saw Mickey in the dying corner, I was alarmed and decided to take immediate action, removing him from the cursed tank and putting him into warm water in his vase. It seemed that this move quite startled Mickey, and he spent equal amounts of time swimming on his side (never a good thing) and trying to jump out. I then found an old fish bowl, so made the water a bit closer to lukewarm, and tipped him into his 3rd home for the night. After googling Siamese fighting fish in a panic and saying a prayer for his health and wellbeing I went to bed. Mickey has survived the night, so now I am contemplating our next move to ensure his longevity.
Sometimes, when I’m rushing around at night trying to get dinner ready by a reasonable hour, I will let the baby boy get into mischief, just to keep him out of my hair. Bub currently has an obsession with pulling things out of my handbag. It’s a pretty harmless past time, He pulls all my bits and bobs out, makes a huge mess, (particularly if he finds a packet of tissues), then crawls away. It can keep him occupied for up to half an hour, so this is a huge bonus. When I saw him checking out the bag during my dinner prep rush, I was relieved and continued crumbing the fish. The thing is, if you can get dinner ready by about 1815h, then you will leave plenty of time for the food to be consumed, the child’s teeth brushed, baby fed, books read, including the customary pleading, and eventual relenting, for “just one more”. So that should all go well, we OUGHT to have 2 sleeping boys by 1930h. The reward being grown up time for me with husband dearest.
This time, when the fish was crumbed, the vegies cooked and table set, I bent down to throw all the stuff back into bag and was very astonished, horrified, and a little amused to find gold glitter all through my hand bag. I had no idea how baby boy had got a hold of the glitter, I thought I’d left it up high, but instead it was scattered through the bag, covering every crevice and corner.
What was a lot less amusing was when I was out in public the next day searching for something in my handbag and glitter was puffing through the air. I apologetically said to the nearby person who just got a sprinkle of glitter on them, “Sorry, the baby tipped glitter into my handbag.” The glittered stranger started chuckling and being very forgiving. At that point, J bomb decided to get full credit for the glitter incident, and confessed that it was in fact he that tipped it into the bag. Whilst it was funny for the random stranger to watch the drama unfold, I was less than amused to discover that this was the antics of a four year old who really ought to know better. His only reasoning for the glitter gag was that he was bored.
Maybe it’s time to take him on an excursion, maybe a wedding where he can throw a lot of glittery confetti will suffice.
The doctor’s office is inevitably places where all mothers end up at one point or another during our mothering career. This morning was our turn! The boys doctor is fast becoming my doctor also, since my doctor, who has been seeing me since I was 8 works on the other side of town and is hard to get in to see. (That’s the problem of having friendly doctors, everyone wants to see them!) Luckily I discovered Dr. Nick who is much closer, which is always better when you have to cart sick kids down to the medical centre. He has lovely smile wrinkles, which gives me confidence that he ought to take it in good humour if one day one of my children ever vomitted on him. He’s also a Dad himself, so he tends to be a bit more understanding than the doctor down the hall who yelled at my two year old once for switching the light on and off repeatedly. (What do they expect to happen if they make the light switches low enough for a two year old to reach, I ask you?)
So this morning I booked appointments for the two boys and myself as we just haven’t been able to shake a lingering cold. As is often the case though, I booked the appointment two days ago when my sinus was giving me such an unrelenting almighty headache, probably not helped by the nocturnal activities of the boys refusal to sleep since they too were unwell.
Poor old Dr. Nick was running late, as is the doctorly custom, so was trying to rush the appointment, without being rude. He gave up trying to rush after seeing my list and was nice and patient listening to all my concerns. J bomb and I were declared that we would be better very soon, (Hurrah!) The baby had a nasty ear infection so has antibiotics (Boo.) I have a referral to another dr, although Dr. Nick warned me that this referral will probably assist Dr. E. to put a downpayment on a new luxury car. (Eeep!) The baby’s penis is fine, it’s not infected, (Phew) and my skanky toenail has been clipped and scraped (EEEEWWW!) and sent to the lab to be diagnosed. Imagine if that were your job, to analyse toenail clippings. (Gasp.)
So thanks Dr. Nick, see you next month for Trent’s needles.
So this is it. My debut blog! Welcome to me! (In my head there is a gentle applause and lots of smiling faces murmuring that it is good that she’s finally arrived.)
There is just too much funny stuff that happens in life that ought to be reported on like the time the baby ate glass and the boy pee’d on the dog. Sorry. I agree, that’s not funny, that’s just scary and gross. Will report on funny at a later date… or I’ll just make gross and scary sound funny. Whatever works.
I am looking forward to the blogging experience and hope that I do gain an audience as I tell the tales of my life. Let the blogging begin!