Finding a new Nemo, sort of.

I've delayed writing this post because, well, I was feeling pretty bad about the circumstances. Suffice it to say that when it comes to caring for animals, I lack in the "caring" department.

While Zoe was gone for a month, I was left in charge of all things animal-related. Including her fish. There were four. For 3.5 weeks, there were four.

Then, in a freak tank-cleaning accident, I managed to completely empty 10 gallons of fish water onto Zoe's bedroom floor, effectively turning four frail fish into bottom feeders. Yeah. I'm good like that. When I discovered the carnage, I was devastated -- mostly from imagining the big tear droplets and bloodshot eyes I was going to see after breaking the news to the little one who trusted me with fish care in her absence.

I cleaned up the water mess before work one day last week, but left the fish carcasses on the rocks until later that day when I thought I would feel like "stomaching" the disposal process. But alas, my plans didn't go exactly as planned. In fact, I had what I would call a "Lazarus moment" with two of the fish late that same day after I poured a gallon of water into the tank to get them to float for removal and, um, a flushing burial.

I kid you not when I say I nearly peed myself as first one fish (a sucker fish) and then another (a hearty Gurami ... spelling?) started flapping and splashing around the tank in two inches of water. At first I thought it was some sort of funky fish muscle reaction (do they have muscles?) to the water. Then, as I added more H2O, they swam! They SWAM!!!!

I refilled the tank and waited/watched for them to croak. I checked on them every two hours or so. They continued to make a comeback. I fed them. They still swam. One looked stunned (for obvious reasons) and sometimes took a break by resting its weary fins on a fake castle in the rocks. But for a couple of days, it appeared as if I'd have a whopper of a fish tale to tell Zoe about how two of our four fish survived my slaughtering ways.

Turns out I was wrong. Day 3 after resurrection: System failure began for both fish. 24 hours later, they were floating, just in time for me to scoop them out and dispose of their smelly selves before hopping on a plane to fetch Z. Great, I thought. So much for my hero status as a fish savior! I'd break the news when the time was right.

Fast forward 12 hours, and I'm sitting on an airport bench with Z. I tell her I've got some bad news to report. She knew it HAD to be something animal-related. "It's the fish," I said. "I'm really sorry to have to tell you that I made a HUGE mistake when cleaning the tank and they didn't make it." Of course, I had to share a few details. But then, Z surprised me.

I had tears in my eyes, and she was the one comforting me as she patted me on the arm and said, "Mom, it's not like you did it intentionally. It's really going to be OK. They were fish. They had a good life. I understand."

WHAT? Where's the 10-year-old drama I was anticipating? Where's the irrational blame I expected to be hurled in my direction? All in my head, apparently, because Z took it like a trooper. I calmed myself down and a few hours later, on the plane, she woke up from a nap and said: "So now that the fish are gone, does it mean I can get NEW fish to replace them?"

But of course.

So that's where we'll be this weekend, after a thorough tank cleaning last night. In search of a new Nemo of sorts ... with me secretly hoping that Z never leaves me in charge of their care again!

RIP Laura, Flipper, Rachel and Robin. It was good while it lasted.