“Responsitility” 

In true 5 year old style, J has a way with words. In other words, he has his own versions as the title suggests. I try not to laugh while attempting to offer gentle corrections, but I often give up e.g. Destickable Me. You can figure it out. Today’s word is brought to you courtesy of Gramma giving J a fish tank. Thanks Mum *side eye*

In fairness to my mother, she gave him this fish tank ages ago. I’ve been procrastinating. You know I’m good at that. Moving right along… During a recent reorganize every closet mania, I took out the box with every intention of putting it back. Little hands beat me to it. Lots of excited screaming, shouting and jumping around later, I caved. So last weekend we put it all together and set an appointment for after school to go and get … A goldfish.

He bounced out of bed this morning with zero interest in going to school and every intention of going straight to the pet store. The deal involved going after school and when reminded of this it was a wonder the breakfast table didn’t collapse under the most passive aggressive display of pancake eating EVER.

Fast forward to after school. He’s practically running out of his classroom announcing to everyone in his path that he’s going to the pet store. We get in the car and off we go, with him backseat driving and shouting directions… Are we there yet?

*deep breath* and the lesson begins…

Little did he know, I was merely the driver (and wallet) for this trip. Kudos to the staff at Hobby Hut for being  super nice and patient with a little boy buying his first goldfish. He said good afternoon and told the lady behind the counter he was here to buy a goldfish. She and I exchanged a knowing glance and after a quick check of the size tank we had, she pointed him to a tank to go and choose his fish. A very patient gentleman asked him to choose his fish… This is where it got interesting.

Mummy how are we going to get the fish out?

Help me!

Help me!

I’ve never seen an expression of wide eyed horror as that on his face when the net/bag routine played out in front of his eyes. I led him back to the counter as he kept asking the fish if he was ok. Oh, his name is Eggy. Seemingly inspired by the Easter eggs we were “juggling” at the time I asked him to pick a name a few nights before… Go figure.

I handed him exact change to pay for his goldfish, at which point he proceeded to find himself behind the counter to hand the money to the now very amused lady.  She gave him his receipt and they both exchanged many rounds of “thank you” and “you’re very welcome”. Then in true mummy style, I interrupted the pleasantries by reminding him to ask for instructions. He ran off to find the gentleman who “caught his fish” and proceeded to get his instructions. Mummy the party pooper one more time interjected “Eggy is YOUR fish, so YOU need to remember these instructions so YOU can take care of him.”

Yes mummy, Eggy is my responsitility.

Works for me. The dog is everyone’s furry baby and the child’s occasional horse, but the fish is his.

I’m happy to report that Eggy survived the trip home from the pet store and made it into the tank in one piece. I’m also happy to report that he’s still alive now that I made it home after work.

Nevertheless, pray for Eggy. Day one….

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