R.I.P.P.

I didn't know, but in hindsight probably should have guessed, that last week's blog picture of Pokey in his new tank would be the last (and really, second) picture ever taken of him. I spent much of the week, and no small amount of money, trying to save him. However, when we woke up this morning, it was evident that he was pretty far gone and suffering a lot. I think he has had ich or some other kind of parasite, probably contracted from his new tank mate, who incidentally is the picture of perfect health at the moment. I personally blame Genie/Jeannie, the cleaner fish who was with us overnight last week. But finger pointing aside, we had to make the difficult decision to euthanize him so he wouldn't die a slow, painful, visible-to-Henry death. Of course we had no idea how to humanely euthanize a fish. Flushing? A website advised us only barbarians resort to such means, and similarly discouraged us from smashing him abruptly with a hammer (!!) or beheading him (!!!). The same website instructed us that the quickest, most pain-free method involves immersing the fish in alcohol, like vodka or tequila, a process akin to anesthetizing the fish. Several questions arose. We're not big drinkers; should we go to a liquor store, or...? Wait! We have a full bottle of tequila from a trip to Cancun in the days when we did things like take trips to Cancun! Next, who would perform the task? (To me the answer to that one was obvious - Russell; to him, it was less obvious, but I helped him to arrive at the right answer.). Unfortunately, having never dealt with the loss of a pet before as parents, these negotiations were being carried out in front of the boys, prompting Henry to blurt out, "But I don't WANT to kill Pokey!" We tried explaining to him that Pokey was very sick, but it wasn't until Russell told Henry we could bury him in the yard and visit him whenever we wanted that Henry seemed satisfied. We said goodbye to Pokey, then the boys and I hopped in the van "to go see how many tulip poplar trees we could find in our neighborhood" (five) while Russell did the deed. (He truly is the best husband, and dad, ever.). When we got back, only Teeny, the new fish, was in the tank, and Pokey had been packaged in part of a brown paper bag which was folded neatly into a square and carefully crisscrossed with black electrical tape. Henry carried the package around for a while, which was a little macabre, asking, "Is Pokey REALLY in here?" like we might be putting him on. We had a burial service this evening, Russell and Henry taking turns digging the hole. "But how will Pokey swim, in the ground?" Henry asked, and I had no good answer for that one. Here is the first picture we took of Pokey, on the day Henry won him at a Halloween festival:

The rest of our week was comparatively much better! We spent lots of time with friends, playing some outdoors but mostly indoors due to the heat. The UPS man brought us an umbrella we ordered to keep us cool at the pool and other outdoor events, and it really does the trick. Russell was invited by Governor Haslam to attend a bill signing in Memphis related to charter schools, which he does not plan to attend, but I was still impressed that he was invited! (His office prepared a report related to this bill.)

Henry: Henry continues to be extremely helpful around the house. One night he picked up the entire den and playroom, UNPROMPTED! I nearly fainted but tried to pretend that's a totally normal thing for a three year old to do. He also clamors for me to let him use the dustbuster (um, OK!) and vacuum cleaner. Part of me worries that I'm turning him into some sort of cleaning freak, and that's entirely possible, but then I also remember reading in The Montessori Way that it's normal and healthy for kids his age to help out around the house, so I choose to believe the latter. It's less than two months until Henry starts going to preschool twice a week. I'm trying to talk about it every day, to prepare him, and I point out all the positive aspects of getting to go to school (mainly, "There won't be any babies there to get into your stuff!")

Charlie: Charlie has begun saying "Muh!" for milk, and he also uses this for when he is generally thirsty, too. He can also say "wawa" for water. "Ball" is a multipurpose word for anything remotely round, including a half moon (?). He loves to play the "uh oh" game, dropping objects on the floor repeatedly, so he's definitely a baby. He has decided lately that he wants to be picked up almost all the time. He's a strong little guy, and now in addition to looking up at me and saying, "Uh! Uh! UHHH!" he physically grabs my pants, turns me around, and pulls me toward him! The way a bully might grab the shirt front of a guy he was about to beat up. He is experiencing some INTENSE separation anxiety when we are anywhere but at home and I step away from him for even a second. At play dates he is gaining a reputation as something of a screamer, but no one seems to take it personally. Sometimes if I step away from him to, say, get Henry a drink, as I'm walking, I count in my head the seconds until I hear Charlie's scream. I typically make it to about three. When I return to his side, though, all is well. He is my little chunk!