Last week our family welcomed some new additions into our home. We got goldfish. Well actually, we WON goldfish. Two of them. We went to a locale festival where my four year old, my husband and my in-laws played that game where you toss ping pong balls into the mouths of tiny fish bowls. Mostly the ping pong balls bounce wildly off the rims of the bowls and it’s not guaranteed that you’ll leave with a fish. But usually you will. And I knew my husband would continue playing, see also continue parting with dollars, until we had secured at least one fish. Luckily not much money was spent, but I’ll consider them “exotic goldfish” to justify spending what would have cost less than a $1 at the store.
See, a couple of days before we went to the festival, my son ran out of his room with a giant smile plastered across his face. It was bedtime and Daddy was putting him down. “What is it buddy?” I asked. “Daddy said when we go to the festival we’re going to win a fish!” He couldn’t have been more excited. I couldn’t have been more aggravated. Just the day before, my husband mentioned he had almost bought a beta fish for our boys at the store. This led to a discussion (well, me telling my husband) about the how boys (four and not yet two years old) were not old enough for a pet. How the super short life of fish would only lead to disappointment and sadness when they eventually, like within a week, died. How are we suppose to explain death to them? I didn’t want to explain death to them. Not yet. How it would fall to us to clean the fish bowl and feed them and blah, blah, blah. Point being, I was totally against a fish and now my well-intentioned husband was not just putting the idea of fish into my son’s head, but getting him super pumped at the idea of having a fish. I was not happy, but he was winning Dad of the Year.
Flash forward to two days later and there we were, walking out of the festival with our bag o’ fish. It wasn’t a battle worth fighting. And it could have been worse. Between the four of them playing, they won six goldfish. Since my in-laws won four of them I suggested it would only be fair for them to take their four fish to their house. After all, the boys would get to visit them there!
The next day I still wasn’t thrilled about the fish. But something started to soften in me when it was time to feed the fish their dinner. Both boys were so excited to feed them. I explained how important it was not to feed them too much. That overfeeding could hurt them. My oldest, very delicately, pinched flakes from the fish food container and sprinkled them into the bowl. As the food floated on top of the water and the fish eagerly swam to feed, the look of fascination on my boy’s face brought me joy. Seeing his curiosity and awe of something I not only took for granted but had been dead set against made me reevaluate my stance. When it was time for the little guy to feed them he was tickled to help. After he dropped a few flakes in, in his sweet voice he called, “Hi fishies! Eat! Eat!” My heart may have actually melted.
These fish also caused a bit of a revelation. I don’t like to admit this, but I yell at my kids. Nothing crazy. I don’t curse or rant or say inappropriate thing to them, but I raise my voice more than I want to. I’m sure most moms understand. After a busy day at work, you rush to get home, cook or re-heat a meal and get everyone’s things ready to do it all again tomorrow… it can be a stressful routine. And after all the busyness, I just want my kids to eat. Dinner can be a bit of a s#*& show some nights. Sometimes they fight. Sometimes they play. Sometimes they steal food off of the other one’s plate. My little one thoroughly enjoys randomly getting up from the table and dancing and hopping around the kitchen. I use to threaten to put him back in the highchair when he did this, but after the second or so time of putting him in the highchair to secure him and get him to focus on eating he started requesting to go into the highchair. Touche buddy. Touche. Early on I noticed the fish would start swimming around their bowl very quickly, frantically even. It would be when someone got close or there was a sudden loud noise. I took it to mean they were startled. They were in a new environment and getting use to their new home. But it got me to thinking. Yelling may be disturbing to them as well. While I don’t like yelling at my kids, they can grasp that it means I am upset. The fish certainly don’t have any concept of that. And while yelling at my kiddos was something I was already committed to stymieing, scaring the fish made me acutely aware of what I was doing. To my kids and the fish. If I was that concerned about scaring these fish, who will not grow up to be men and hopefully good human beings who care for and contribute to society, I really needed to rethink my approach with my guys. And strangely enough, it has helped.
These goldfish I didn’t want and was totally against grew on me. They caused me to view my parenting in a different light and have given me a nice way to bond with my boys everyday. They taught me to be more open to new ideas, and look at the good rather than assume the worst. And if they continue to help me grow and be a little bit better of a Mama, I know they were right to bring into our lives. I know the life expectancy isn’t great, but I hope Chase and Skye are around for awhile. If your a parent to a young child or were within the last few years you know exactly where our four year old got their names from : )
