It was the noise that brought me running.
The unmistakable crash and thud of a small object hitting the wall at great speed.
It took me a moment to recognize the orange and green confetti spread across the lounge room floor as fish food. But once that had registered it took me no time at all to identify the same flakes clinging to boy genius’s lips.
I swear I’d only left him for a moment. He was contentedly watching his Harry Potter DVD and I thought I would take the opportunity to go make the beds. How was I to know that a 15 year old would suddenly decide to try eating fish food? He’s never shown any inclination to taste things before.
Apparently it wasn’t the gourmet treat he’d expected-hence throwing the can at the wall, I suppose.
The forceful stomping on the way to the bathroom told me two things. Firstly, building on a slab was a wise choice and secondly, this wasn’t over yet.
Fortunately the tantrum held off until after he’d rinsed his mouth out. Then it was full-on, throw-yourself-on-the-floor and flail-your-limbs-around-while-screaming. I’d give it a 7/10. It loses points for being at home rather than in a public place, for having a recognisable trigger and not being too unreasonable in the circumstances (yes, we do have a fairly liberal interpretation of unreasonable).
After around 10 minutes he’d calmed down enough to stand up and tell me that “fish bottle is yucky”.
I’m willing to take his word for it.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
Eulogy for the Unnamed Goldfish
He was a good fish
He was an old fish
He is a dead fish
We commend his scaly soul to Heaven
And consign his earthly remains to Werribee
As I waited to ensure he made it around the S-bend I couldn’t help but compare his passing to that of Gil, one of his forerunners.
Gil, also orange and of carp ancestry, merited the full state funeral. When he was found ‘sleeping funny’ and the nature of his posture explained there was much weeping and heartfelt sorrow. He was buried in an oversized match box out under the grape vine and prayers were mumbled by the mourners as he was laid to rest.
That was around seven years ago. It doesn’t seem like such a long time past. Yet today those same children who wore black arm bands at Gil’s funeral are practically teenagers and noted this latest loss with a simple “Mum, I think the orange fish is dead.”
While I am glad they can accept that death has its place, and I do appreciate that fish don’t really lend themselves to attachment (they aren’t exactly the cutest or cuddliest of pets, be honest) part of me laments the maturing of the compassion and innocence displayed in the outpouring at Gil’s funeral.
Goodbye Unnamed Goldfish. I hope your life with us was as happy as any goldfish could expect.
He was an old fish
He is a dead fish
We commend his scaly soul to Heaven
And consign his earthly remains to Werribee
As I waited to ensure he made it around the S-bend I couldn’t help but compare his passing to that of Gil, one of his forerunners.
Gil, also orange and of carp ancestry, merited the full state funeral. When he was found ‘sleeping funny’ and the nature of his posture explained there was much weeping and heartfelt sorrow. He was buried in an oversized match box out under the grape vine and prayers were mumbled by the mourners as he was laid to rest.
That was around seven years ago. It doesn’t seem like such a long time past. Yet today those same children who wore black arm bands at Gil’s funeral are practically teenagers and noted this latest loss with a simple “Mum, I think the orange fish is dead.”
While I am glad they can accept that death has its place, and I do appreciate that fish don’t really lend themselves to attachment (they aren’t exactly the cutest or cuddliest of pets, be honest) part of me laments the maturing of the compassion and innocence displayed in the outpouring at Gil’s funeral.
Goodbye Unnamed Goldfish. I hope your life with us was as happy as any goldfish could expect.
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