It's What Moms Do
*published June 2, 2005
Like most parents, I love my son with the fierceness of a tiger for her cub. Also, like most parents, I would sacrifice myself in all of the big ways to save him; take a bullet, stop a train, donate an organ, etc. But these grand gestures pale in comparison to the little things I do for him because I'm his mom.
The costume was for a field trip to the Renaissance Faire with his fellow Gifted And Talented Education classmates. The teachers sent home instructions about how to cut off a pair of pants, turn under the collar on one of his dad's shirts, get a straw hat, and voila! Since this was the only time he'd wear 16th century dress, it was the most economical costume to assemble.
But my son needed more, because he's my son. So, after five trips to Jo-Ann Fabrics, three days at the sewing machine, an evening of hand stitching and a trip to Michael's Crafts, Marcus was dressed well enough to meet the Queen.
He had a good time at the Faire, then came home, wadded his costume up and tossed it into his hamper. I washed it and hung it in the back of his closet, where it will probably stay until he leaves for college and I clean out the room. I don't feel like I wasted my time making the clothes, but I wouldn't mind if he wore them just once more, maybe for Trick-or-Treat.
While I was knee-deep in pins and needles, Rocky the goldfish was under the weather. Rocky was the last survivor of Marcus' 5th grade science project and had been a happy little pet for over two years. Suddenly, he could only float on top of the water. He was still eating and breathing normally, but he couldn't submerge his rotund body anymore.
I know most people would say a fishy benediction and flush, but he was such a fixture in our home that I had to try to save him. Plus, he was so big that I knew he'd clog the toilet.
First, I searched the Internet for goldfish ailments. Looking up "swimming trouble" I found that it could be constipation and that I should either give Rocky some spinach or peas, after peeling them. I liked Rocky, but I wasn't going to peel peas for him; I got out some frozen spinach and fed him a little. A few hours later I discovered that constipation wasn't the problem.
My next stop was to ask my friend, Ian, for advice. Ian loves cold-blooded creatures and knows a lot about keeping scaly things alive. According to him, Rocky's swim bladder was infected, which is why he couldn't submerge. He suggested anti-fungal drops from the pet store, which I ran out and purchased.
Rocky perked up slightly when I put the drops in the water, but the infection had taken its toll. I pronounced him dead around noon and buried him under the lavender plant I had just bought. I'm hoping the plant lives, so I can keep the "circle of life" concept going with my son. You see, in addition to playing fish doctor, I also play spin doctor.
And about washing the basketball uniform so many times… it's one of those little things a mom does for her son (and everyone standing downwind of him).