The Death of Sunny

Our goldfish, Sunny (also previously known as Hannah III and Erin) died in the night. We believe she was about five years old. Or he was about five years old - there was really no way to tell.

We got Sunny after the kids got free goldfish coupons for Petco at their school carnival. (Incidentally, this free goldfish tactic is quite a racket. You bring your excited children to the pet store where you discover that the free fish actually retail for 39 cents each, while the required tank, rocks, food and drops cost about $40. But by then it's too late - the kids have already picked out their new "pets.")

I briefly (very briefly) considered burying Sunny in the backyard. Can't you see it? Me standing graveside on this gray, blustery day, my tears of mourning almost indistinguishable from the rain? Hmm, I think I've seen that funeral scene in a movie or two - except they weren't burying a fish! Besides, if I was so inclined (and it was about 25 degrees warmer) I am pretty sure Fred would desecrate Sunny's resting place and eat her (or him). In the end, Sunny made the trip to fish heaven in the usual way - via the toilet. I haven't broken the news to the kids yet. Gee, I can't wait for that task!

In addition to dead fish and yucky weather, this morning I got to enjoy Mira's latest talent, spitting. Like many people, I have seen countless commercials or sitcoms where a baby in a highchair spits a big glob of baby food at the parent, hitting them square in the face. I personally had never had a child actually accomplish this feat, however. I don't even remember my older three spitting much. They must have been gaggers.

Well, there's a new sheriff in the dining room, and she spits. Really well. I am astounded by her distance and accuracy. I was hit in the eyes with Gerber Chunky Orchard Fruits three times at breakfast alone. (An hour later I am rubbing my eye, wondering what's wrong with my contact. Oh, yeah...)