Aug 13 2008
Gone fishing
Paul just came back from his yearly Mexican fishing trip. While there are some things I enjoy about him not being at home, like the lack of ESPN and poker tournament viewing, it's very exhausting when he's gone.
First, there are the changes in the children's attitudes and behaviors. Nathan's acting out increases. The kids fight more. Everyone's sleeping pattern changes -- either they pass out very early on the couch because daddy's not home to entertain them (Nathan), or they insist on sleeping with me all night no matter how often I get up and put them back in their bed (Lucie).
But we do fun things too, like get into bed and watch movies. Or I let them watch cartoons late into the night (weekends only, please) so I can get some work done. Or we go on special trips to fast food places or some place fun, like a food and cooking expo.
However, there is usually some kind of catastrophe that happens when Paul is away. No, it's not a trip to the emergency room or a car accident. Instead, one of the fish dies. (We don't have cats or dogs, only fish.) Of course it's all my fault, no matter what the extraneous circumstances are. Like the time the tank heater broke and boiled all the fish to death. Or the time a fish jumped out of the tank and disappeared. (It was behind the furniture and I found its mummified body months later while doing a deep house cleaning.)
This time it was not my fault, even though Paul blames me for my lack of supervision. You see, Lucie fed Nathan's beta fish to death. Sometime on Monday, ironically the day Paul got back, Lucie snuck into Nathan's room and dumped most of the fish food in beta's tank. Instead of one or two pellets, he got a thousand. By that evening when Paul got home, the fish was dead. Of course, I had no idea this happened until he brought the tank downstairs to clean it.
Your honor, I swear that fish was alive on Sunday night when I fed it after putting Nathan to bed. In fact, Lucie has given a full confession to the fish murder. (She's very sorry and helped Daddy say a few nice words about the fish when they flushed it down the toilet).
Yet who's getting the book thrown at her (or at least the evil eye from Daddy)? Mommy, of course.
I've been framed.
