LOSING NEMO: A YEAR IN PEACE

Last weekend, a friend of mine told me that as a parting gift at a child's birthday party, her 2 year-old son was given a goldfish. I had 3 responses, consecutively:

#1) Are you fucking serious?!

#2) Wow. That's cool.

#3) Did they give you a bowl?

No... she said. They did not. No bowl. They just handed her a fish IN A BAG, and said thanks for coming. That was it. I tried to spin it in my mind... Perhaps that was a clever and cool alternative to Silly Bandz, candy, or some chatchke from Oriental Trading Company (seriously, spare me the junk people). But I never was really able to decide how I felt about such an extreme parting gift that a child really won't be able to "part" with anytime soon... unless they have parents like me, who let fish die and/or send them to fish heaven.

Anyway... all of this reminded me of our own dead fish incident of 2010. It's hard to believe "Nemo" has been gone a year. In memory of losing nemo, I thought I'd share with you an old post. Enjoy. And never give me a fish as a gift.

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Originally posted: February 9 ,2010

Last week, our lovely and adorable babysitter Ash-a-wee texted me to see if she could buy Baby-Ko a fish. Hmm. This is tough.... On one hand, a goldfish would be the perfect pet for us to have as I, a) am not an animal person and, b) Baby-Ko is fascinated by them. On the other hand, a) I am not an animal person and fish are right up there with birds and b) I have killed every single fish I have ever owned, not including the one from the very intentional murder/Purim incident of 1985. In fact, I have another confession: When I was 13, I killed my sister's goldfish with this fake "Cinderella" perfume she had in her dress up chest, just 'cuz. Point is, me and fish, notwithstanding sushi, don't do well together.

BUT, Baby-Ko... sweet Baby-Ko... I want to give him the world, and if that means feeding some slippery slimy fish and skimming out poo, then goddammit, I'll (vomit in my mouth) do it.

When I got home from work that night, Baby-Ko opened the door and beamed, "Mommy! Ash-a-wee bought me fish! In my house! Come, mommy, come!"

He marched me in to the living room. There, on the coffee table was a (dare, I say it?) a pretty-ish Black "Beta" Fish.... Living in my VERY pretty Kate Spade round vase. "Oh, goooood.... you found a bowl," half laughing.

Ash-a-wee told me she'd be going back to Petco tomorrow to pick up a proper bowl and some rocks, and also: She would clean the bowl and feed him when she came. PHEW. The fish has a chance at living.

"What did you name him?" I asked.

"Nemo!" Baby-Ko exclaimed. "He is Nemo, Mommy!"

"Nemo. Perfect!"

Though I desperately wanted to rename him something clever, or something even obvious like 'Bemo' (short for Black Nemo, which potentially sounds offensive), I shared in his pride over his very first pet. Nemo it is.

From the beginning, Nemo seemed to be a "slower" more "static" creature, if you will, never really moving from one place (even when Baby-Ko put his face up to the vase and shouted his name). However, it was to my shock and dismay when less than 24 hours later, I returned from a party and my mom whispered to me, "I think Nemo is dead." Shit.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Nothing. Nemo wasn't even belly up... Rather, he was on the bottom of the bowl. Upside down. Dead. Asleep. For good.

"What happened, Mommy?" Baby-Ko said, noticing my concern.

"Nothing, love. Nemo's sleeping. Let's go play with your trains." Not prepared to talk about life, death, and beta fish heaven, I redirected him to the other room...

A few minutes later, we got a call from T-Ko asking if we could Skype, as he is out of town for work. (BTW, I guess now is as good of a time as any to tell you that T-Ko and I separated last May and are getting divorced... At some point I'm sure I'll share more. But for now, let's honor Nemo... :-)) Anyway, over Skype, which we routinely do, we told him about Nemo and that Nemo is "sleeping" (wink, wink). I was fully prepared to do a bait and switch of Nemo the next day, but T-Ko had a different idea.

"Baby-Ko, look at my view," he pointed the computer camera out the window to the river. "Daddy's hotel is on a river. You should send Nemo to the river!"

Gulp.

"Go with Mommy to the bathroom and you can pour Nemo in to the toilet and flush him down to the river so I can see him."

"Good idea, Daddy!" I said, with a smile like Chandler Bing.

In to the bathroom we marched... Without much warning, I picked up my very pretty Kate Spade Vase. Swoooosh....

"Bye bye Nemo, go see Daddy!" I said.

Baby-Ko stuck his head to the toilet, "Where Nemo go?"

"...To come see me!" T-Ko said, "I'm going to go down to the river and get him."

A few more questions and love-you's later, Baby-Ko and T-Ko finished their chat.

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Now every time I go in to the bathroom, Baby-Ko does look somewhat concerned. Because Baby-Ko's only 2 years old, I can't say that my first choice would have been to send Nemo to Savannah to see T-Ko and the river... But I admire T-Ko's quick response to putting the fish to rest for good.

In the meantime, any suggestions for how to explain to said 2-year old that when I sit down

on the toilet, Mommy isn't "sending her poo-poo and pee-pee down to the river to go see Daddy???"

BYE-BYE BIRDIES

Aloha! We just got back from a beautiful week in Maui for Dirty Uncle P and Auntie J's wedding. It was awesome. The wedding, the weather, the family and friends.... it was a blast. I can't say that I am coming back relaxed, but I definitely am coming back exhausted which is a sign that I had a great time...

So as you know by now, I hate birds. But now that Baby-Ko can actually say the word "Bird" (well, it sounds more like "burr"),  I feel like I have to stifle my desire to scream and run when those nasty little creatures fly by or land near me. When I was in college, I baby sat for a little boy and every afternoon, I would take him to this playground which was constantly bombarded by pigeons. Panicked, I would shoo away the birds and mutter something probably very inappropriate for a 3 year old to hear under my breath. One day, the birds started to hover near his stroller and on cue, Z said "Go 'way birdies. I don't wike you." Uh oh. I said, "No, you can like birds. You like birds. IIIII don't like birds." "No!" He said, "I don't wike birds. Go 'way!" And that was that. I created a monster.

Determined not to make the same mistake with my own child (ha ha), I mustered up a lot of courage (mostly impart to the constant flow of pina coladas and other umbrella laden drinks), and endured the insane amount of bird presence at the hotel. There are birds, there are parrots, there are flamingos, there are swans. There are even penguins. Vomit. BUT, I remained so calm. We even ate breakfast at Swan Court (yes, literally, it's a fucking court for swans. Die.), and  the "burrs" were flying around like it was a Hitchcock film. I wanted to scream and shoo them away with my napkin, but I didn't. Instead, I pointed them out like a good mommy. I even turned a blind eye for a half a second when he threw a piece of food on the floor purposefully so the birds would come and eat it (okay, it wasn't completely blind. I had my foot nearly up the birds beak ready to kick it the fuck away if it got any closer). The point is, the fact that Baby-Ko is using his words and identifying things and even composing sentences like "Bye-Bye Burr", I have no choice but to chill out. 

But it's a damn good  thing he doesn't know how to say "Germs" and "Plane" yet. Because I don't know just how much "chilling" I can do...

IN DA CLUB

Recently, a friend (okay, my therapist), told me about this group called Mom's Club. It's a national organization that has chapters in literally every neighborhood and it's for stay at home moms; they have playgroups, mom's night out, activities, etc. Baby-Ko and I already go to a very popular Mommy & Me class every week (more on this one later for sure), but I thought it might be nice to get to know some other moms in my neighborhood since many of my baby-mama friend's live on the Westside (lucky bitches).

But this morning I started to have doubts about wanting to commit to something else, let alone a "Club." I've always had "groups" of friends, but never really joined a group or club that needed a label. Well, that's not true. In second grade, I started "The Reflex" Club. It was a group committed to making dance routines to Duran Duran and Wham during recess. I'm pretty sure I was the only member.

I wondered, as I slipped on my brown "fuicy" (fake Juicy) sweatsuit and tied a scarf around my unbrushed hair, if the Mom's Club had rules on dress or appearance. I remembered that the woman who was coordinating this "Meet & Greet" sent me some sort of RULES or waiver I needed to sign if I wanted to join Mom’s Club. Was it like:

"THE FIRST RULE OF MOM'S CLUB IS YOU DON'T TALK ABOUT MOM'S CLUB?"

The MCC (Mom's Club Coordinator) told me to meet at them at this outdoor shopping center- next to the pond. When I got there, I realized I had no idea who I was looking for. So I waited at table over-looking the pond and hoped that I would recognize these women by some sort of defining "club trait" - like purple hats or sorority letters. I fed Baby-Ko and just as I was about to leave, the MCC along with two other mom's and their kids came and introduced themselves. I don't know what it was, but I didn't get a great vibe from them.

I sat with them and made small talk while they ate their lunches, but when the MCC's 3 year old decided to DUMP rice on the ground to get the birdies to come, I knew that was my cue. I HATE BIRDS. No, seriously, it's a repulsion so deep that it teeters on crazy. As the birds started to gather, my heart started to race. I think I clutched Baby-Ko too hard and he whimpered. FINALLY. An excuse to leave, I thought.

"Oh, poor guy. " I said kissing Baby-Ko. "Are you so tired? Yes... You missed your nap today" I said loudly so they would hear me. But no one was listening. They were busy running after their kids who were chasing after the rats with wings (Dear God, I hope Baby-Ko never does that). This was my perfect opportunity to hit the road. But I knew it wasn’t polite to just leave without saying good-bye, so I figured I'd go order lunch (to go) and say goodbye after.

As I quickly stuffed Baby-Ko into the Snap 'N Go, one of their kids tapped me on the shoulder and said, "The Ducks are fighting in the pond over a baby duck."
"Oh... That's... really... wow..." I said not even looking up. Sorry, kid, but you lost me at "Duck."

I grab my diaper bag and just as I am about to make a break for it, I hear SCREAMING at the pond.
"Help!! Help!! Oh my god!” CHAOS HAS ERRUPTED. Children of all ages and parents are now gathered at the edge of the pond.
Someone shouts, "Do something! Do something!" I assume that one of the club member's unruly children has fallen in, so I quickly push the stroller over to see what happened.

I get to the pond and the next thing I see is the MCC – yanking off her shoes, tossing her baby to another mom and jumping INTO THE POND. All of a sudden, she YANKS out a TURTLE. Everyone SCREAMS.

The Turtle is EATING A BABY DUCK and the MCC is trying to pry it out of the turtle's mouth!

I vomit slightly in my mouth and turn away. This club is SOOOO not for me.

Now before you go calling me heartless, please understand that at this point, the scene was more reminiscent of a "When Good Times Go Bad" video than a heartwarming, educational "Crocodile Hunter" program. I turn again and see the MCC shaking the turtle and then look at all the children standing on the bridge screaming in horror and push Baby-Ko into the restaurant.

Inside the restaurant, I catch my breath and wonder how I will politely decline membership. As I wait for my order to go, two young boys (who had been standing on the bridge minutes earlier watching the scene unfold) stand next to their mother, who has a FABULOUS PURSE. I consider asking her where she got it but realize it would be in better taste to ask about the duck.

"Do you know if she saved the duck?" I ask.
The women shakes her head "no..." Her son adds, "The turtle ate it! It died!"
The other son adds, "Yeah, they threw it in the trash!"
"Ooh..." I say shuddering.
"You asked!" The mom says laughing.
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Needless to say, I am not joining the save the duck/ mom's club. But if anyone is interested in “The Reflex,” we are currently taking new members...