Middle of the Floor

I spend most of my time in the middle of our living room floor. I have two toddlers, and a lot can be done from this vantage point; change a diaper, play a game, dress a child, read, wipe snot, and so on. It is my point of reference, for now. And it is currently where I sit. Trying to figure out how to tell our kids how our dead goldfish, "Dolphin", came back to life.

It was a totally honest mistake. We have had Dolphin for over two years. Originally there were three orange feeder fish. Dolphin maimed, killed, and ate his bowl mates immediately after we arrived home. We were left with the 27 cent cannibal. From then on I couldn't get rid of him. I didn't change his water for weeks, nearly had a horrific accident involving the disposal, forgot to feed him, etc. Still, the little guy held on. Now, I eventually developed responsible habits. And my sympathetic husband bought a real tank from a garage sale. And thus we have lived. Until Dolphin ended up belly up in the tank this morning. I told the kids the sad news (after I finished crying - yes, crying, over the stupid fish) and when they wanted to see, there he was, alive and wiggling. My daughter looked at me.

"Well," I said, "he's not dead yet, but he IS dying". As if on cue, the fish did a loop-the-loop around the filter, chuckled, and ate a mouthful of food.

Now, part of me is glad Dolphin is hanging on, even though he is a liar.

Part of me is mad that the fish made a sucker out of me in front of the kids.

The rest of me is sorry I cried like a baby about a fish. My husband will never let me live it down.