Fish food for thought

For a family of River Badgers, fish usually means food.  But, perhaps unfortunately, our clan is less vicious than most, and we recently added two goldfish as pets.  Their original names were "Alex" and "Alex", but then one became "Cow".  I think this is because of its colorful, calico scales.  These fish represent the Boy Badgers' first experience with being responsible for a pet.  We have a cat, but she's mostly mine, as I've had her for over thirteen years.  With these new pets, the Boy Badgers would have to take the lead with regard to feedings and tank cleanings, and being watchful for signs of trouble.  Or, at least that's what we told them.  So far, as we pretty much expected, it's I and Daddy River Badger who remind the boys about feeding the fish, and I'm almost certain we will eventually have to point out that the tank needs cleaning.

Besides the lack of enthusiasm for the more tedious aspects of pet ownership, the boys have been very excited about the fish actually being there, in the tank, on their dresser, in their room.  The fish are watched all through the day, with boys running up and down the hall to tell me that "Cow is being lazy!" and "Alex ate poop!"  The tank light is left on at night as the boys fall asleep, and our usual Boy Badger bedtime story has been temporarily replaced by a fish-related question and answer session.

The fish are inspiring to the Little Badgers.  The other day, I found Big Brother Badger flipping through an encyclopedia of fish.  I've heard Little Brother Badger pulling the step-stool through the house early in the morning to be the first one to peer into the tank.  Even Baby Badger has gotten into the fun, trying to say "fish", and pointing when they swim by.  So, I have to admit that, even if I'm the one who's going to be cleaning the tank, getting a couple fish seems to be going over pretty well.

But here's where my glowing, selfless, mother-of-the-year expression wears off.  Here are two more scaly responsibilities.  I don't take this lightly, you see.  I've already had nightmares about the poor fish struggling to breathe in a filthy tank that I have forgotten to clean!  Yes, my dreams do tend to be slight exaggerations.  Ahem.

I know families that have kids and pets and houses and manage to survive.  My own Mom took in animal after animal while I was growing up.  We had dogs and cats, horses and birds.  Mom cared for rescued blue jays, braved traffic for turtles crossing the road (even snapping turtles!), and saved hopeless case after hopeless case.  My Dad laughs about this (now), with a sing-song, "Where can a turtle/dog/cat/miniature horse/emu find a home?  Under a rock? Under a stone?  Why, at our house, of course!"  I think the only animals not welcome at my parents' house were ticks.

But, when DRB and I had kids, and then bought a house, I started to face the situation for myself.  Cat hair and cat boxes on top of kid messes and normal wear-and-tear on the house started to drive me a bit nuts.  I appreciate the love and companionship that pets can bring to the house, and the wonderful influence they can have on children, but after three kids in almost that many years, I worried that anything extra will disturb the fragile equilibrium we have tentatively established.

And that is the crux of it, I think.  With children, the unknown, the what if, is always somewhat scary.  I find comfort in creating and sticking to a schedule, to minimize the number of unknowns.  I want to manage risks as well as I can, and even though I know that crises are inevitable, I want to keep my equation with a manageable set of variables.  I don't want to feel out of control each night before I go to bed.  I don't want to feel out of control.

So, here we are, with two fish.  They are, at present, very obliging pets.  They eat, they swim, and they seem to get along.  The tank will need to be cleaned, but I have enough of a heads-up to work it into the schedule.  I've figured out that the fish are not the problem.  I think I need to re-evaluate my expectations for "control" over the house.  One of the things that I loved about growing up in my parents' house was the fun and spontaneity brought by having an assortment of creatures roaming the halls and romping in the yard.  I know it's not realistic for our family now to do that, but perhaps I can work on my own spontaneous nature.  Relinquishing control is a different thing than losing it, and may, in the end, be the responsible parenting thing to do.