"We seldom get into trouble when we speak softly. It is only when we raise our voices that the sparks fly and tiny molehills become great mountains of contention."
The
guppies were dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about
that. They were flushed by the hand of my husband, mourned by my
daughters who’d named them, and “good riddanced" by
me. Allatournia, Nightlight, and Squid-fishy were as dead as
doornails.
After
washing the fish tank for the last time, my husband turned to me and
said, “Janae, I’m so sorry I couldn’t keep them
alive for you.”
“Are
you kidding? I never wanted them,” I said.
“You
‘never wanted them’? Janae, I only got them because you
were so excited about it.”
Excited?
When was I excited? He was the excited one, I remember.
My
friend had emailed, listing a few toys her family was giving away and
asking if anyone was interested. Of course I was interested; free
toys are always interesting, especially when they’re offered in
time for Christmas. I said I’d take them and we left it at
that.
December
was a busy month for us (Ha! When is December ever slow?) and I had
forgotten about our toy-talk so I was genuinely surprised to get a
knock on our front door the night before Christmas Eve.
I
had either forgotten what toys my friend had mentioned or I hadn’t
read the email very well. There were so many of them. As in, multiple
trips from the car to our door to hand over the goods, many. It was
exciting and I felt like a kid again.
I
remembered discussing the little plastic shopping cart. I thought my
two-year-old would enjoy that.
I
remembered her mentioning the little pink table and chairs. I was
glad my kids would now have a dedicated “art table” to
destroy with paint and markers and crayons and food.
I
did not remember anything in the email about the bags of naked dolls
or the fish tank.
And
— apparently — I did not remember to tell my husband
about any of this. There was a shocked look on his face as he was
handed item after item. He was trying to be gracious at the door,
despite his confusion.
I
wasn’t that much more prepared for the delivery, but I would
never say no to quality hand-me-downs and figured I would simply sort
through everything to decide what we really wanted to keep and what
we would pass on to Goodwill. I couldn’t do that at the door
with hands full of my friend’s kindness so the explanation for
my hubby would have to wait.
After
saying goodbye and closing the door I turned to see my husband
holding a large brown paper bag with the fish tank inside.
“A
fish tank?” His eyes lit up.
I
had killed every fish I’d ever owned. I didn’t want fish,
but it looked like he did. And he has such a cute, little-boy-excited
face when he wants something.
“Maybe
the girls will stop asking for a puppy,” I said, and the next
day my husband filled the fish tank with three guppies.
The
excitement on my end lasted for about a day and a half. I loathed the
thought of uncapping their food jar purely because of the smell, but
my girls were enthusiastic about feeding their fish every morning.
They carefully counted out three flakes to put in the water while I
cleaned up whatever extra they’d spilled on the floor.
I
kept doing the fish thing because I couldn’t forget the look on
my husband’s face — the adorable excitement. He’d
seemed so happy to give the girls a real pet. But I still refused to
clean the tank out. Whenever it started looking nasty I gave a
reminder to my husband, the man who wanted the fish in the first
place.
One
morning my daughter said, “Look, Squid-fishy has a beard!”
Sure
enough, that fish had something white and fuzzy hanging down from its
mouth. I googled it and found out it had a bacterial infection. My
valiant husband bought what the Petsmart man told him to buy and
poured it in the water, but all three eventually sprouted the fatal
beards.
The
point is, we tried. We really did. Evidently we both tried, thinking
the other one was seriously invested and we didn’t want to let
each other down.
“Are
you kidding? I never wanted them,” I said.
“You
‘never wanted them’? Janae, I only got them because you
were so excited about it.”
As
we stood in the kitchen, staring at each other, I thought about all
the months I’d bugged him to clean the tank, now realizing that
he’d been doing it for me and probably wondering why I wouldn’t
do it for myself.
There
was no romantic, gift-of-the-magi thoughtfulness on my end,
unfortunately. I’m Scrooge. But at least, like Scrooge, my
three, bearded guppy ghosts came back from the pipes to remind me
that open, honest communication is always important, especially at
Christmastime.
Janae and her husband were an inseparable, delightful pair before the coming of their children. Now they are just as delightful and inseparable but with quite a bit more massmass that won't go to bed on time and asks so many questions that Janae often wonders if college was enough preparation for motherhood (it's not).
Janae currently serves as a senior primary teacher, a temporary sunbeam teacher, an assistant ward organist, an assistant primary pianist, and the choir pianist. And maybe some others. If you're bored on Sundays you should move to her ward.