New Feature: Why I'm the Worst Mom in The World

I've reached a new all time low in my parenting skills.

A few years ago my parents took George and Goldie on an outing and they came back with two fish, which George named Nardy and Facewipe.

I have always hated these fish.

They keep dying and I keep replacing them as soon as George notices they are missing. Sometimes it takes months and sometimes it takes days.

Because George loves these fish I can't stand the thought of telling him they died so I just replace them as appropriate.

This morning when I woke up Nardy (or maybe Facewipe) was lying in the fetal position gasping for air, or water, or whatever fish gasp for. Clearly he was about to die... Again!

On our walk to school today I gently asked George if we could maybe set the fish free and let them live to their full potential in a pond somewhere. George looked as though he was about to cry, so hours later I'm back at the pet store buying more fish.

So, smarty pants me decided to buy extra fish, just in case of a sudden death. The fish guy at Petco told me Beta fish were very sturdy and would live for years and I wouldn't even have to change their water or feed them. Perfect, I buy two.

Small problem: they're blue instead of gold. Not sure how to get around this one. I also bought two more goldfish. (And I still have the two fish at home, although they aren't looking so fresh.)

I clearly haven't thought any of this through and now I've got SIX fish to deal with. Six fish! See why I'm the worst mom and why lying is bad? And if that isn't bad enough George asked Clay tonight at bedtime if when Nardy and Facewipe die can we bury them in a coffin?

I better start searching for fish coffins on sale because we're going to need a lot of them around here.

How Long is Too Long?

Three weeks ago my purse went "missing." We figured it was most likely stolen from the trunk of our car, which I learned is often left unlocked.

I quickly cancelled my credit cards, contacted the police and moved on.

Fast forward to last night when I got a message on my cell phone telling me my purse is at "How to Cook a Wolf," which is a delicious restaurant I ate at three weeks ago with some girlfriends.

THREE. WEEKS. AGO.

The husband, whom I like to call Clay, picked up the purse last night after we put the kids to bed. Once the purse was home and safe I went through it and found the expected contents, which were not limited to a baby sling, a pair of ballet shoes, various playmobil people, beads, diapers and rubber stampers.

But there was also MY driver's license, with MY address on it and MY business cards (which don't specify a "business") along with several other pieces of information with MY name and phone number on them. Three Weeks?!

Out of curiosity, and now frustration I call the restaurant and leave a message for the manager simply saying thanks for returning it but wtf took so long. (Clay and I speculate they were closed for the last few weeks or they have a policy of not riffling through people's stuff. Perhaps reasonable.)

The manager of all of Ethan Stowell's restaurants called me today and gave me the following explanation, "We tried to find you on Facebook but you don't seem to have an account."

Are you kidding me? Are you 12 years old? That's why it took three weeks? Because I don't have an account on Facebook?

Finally a reason to get a Facebook account! That's exactly the motivation I needed.

Ethan Stowell, I have nothing more to say to you. And your silly friend Mark Zuckerberg either.