Fun with Fish

John has been working every day, starting up his hedge fund, Frontera. This means that my long weeks at home with the girls are not delineated by weekends ... I try to make a weekend for us, to make it seem like I'm not a single parent every single day. For the last two weekends, I took the girls to my sister's house near Boston. The drive takes up three hours of time I'd otherwise have no idea how to spend and, my parental duties are shared by my sister and brother-in-law. The cousins play with each other, and it's also just nice to have a change of scenery ... and new toys!

Last weekend, I decided to give my sister a break ... and decided to spend as much of Saturday as possible at the Norwalk Maritime Aquarium. I talked about Fish all day Friday to get us in the mood for our Saturday excursion. We were all very excited. I thought of taking Nelka but Saturday and Sunday are her days off so, rather than bother her, I braved it alone. Everything went very smoothly until we got to the parking lot of the aquarium. The parking garage is across the street and a block down from the entrance ... Claire is a wonderful and independent walker but without constant verbal cues from me ("Claire, stay close to Mommy", "this way, Claire", "Claire! Stop!!!"), she tends to head the wrong direction or in front of a car. Ava, our giant infant, is a horrible walker. She falls a lot, even with when I have an iron grip on her chubby little hand. And she is starting to assert herself by pulling in unwanted directions and making me drag her after me while she squirms and cries. She is also short so I have to bend over in order to keep a hold of her without dislocating her baby arm. So, I carry her. She may be short but she is solid at 30 pounds. It is funny that Claire, a little small for her age, is within a pound of the same weight. All of this to say that by the time I got them to the garage elevator, across the street and down the block to the aquarium entrance, I was ready to go home.

In retrospect, perhaps I should have. We got into line to buy entrance tickets and my children scattered ... one charging down the hallway to the first exhibit, the other making a break for the door. I hustled behind the one going to the street, clutching at my big pregnant belly "STOPPPPP!" A marvelous aquarium employee stepped from out of nowhere to block Ava's freedom charge. "Thank you!" I breathed heavily. He gave me the look (Lady, are these really your children because you look like you don't know how to take care of them. And just look at yourself, pregnant again?!). I may have been reading a little too much into our brief eye contact. Maybe what he was thinking was "my hat off to you, little lady!" Eventually, I was able to purchase our tickets and dash down the hall with kicking Ava under my arm like a football to catch up to Claire.

The wonder of sea life was most profound when the girls caught a glimpse of a giant, stuffed animal squid (or cuttlefish ... they look so much alike) suspended from the ceiling before the first exhibit. "Look Ava!!" said Claire breathlessly looking up in fascination. I jumped on the opportunity to make good use of our pricey tickets "yes! wow, girls!! That is a GIANT stuffed (animal) squid! Or cuttlefish ... they look so much alike." Eventually, it was necessary to drag them on to the real fish, but I think if we'd turned around and gone home right then, they would have been satisfied with their trip to the museum. Like when they are so enthralled with the wrapping paper, bow and box you catch yourself thinking "I'll just return the gift!"

Our first stop was a tank full of little turtles. "Oh BOY!" I exclaimed ... "little turtles!!" The girls were fully absorbed in pushing each other off of the narrow step stool platform and staring at those incredible little turtles. Like a moron, I soon hustled them off to other exhibits that were not nearly so interesting as the little turtles or the giant stuffed animal cuttlefish suspended from the ceiling. One truly giant turtle was minimally interesting. A tank full of hungry looking sharks was dismissed with disdain. I spoke enthusiastically about jellyfish, seahorses, weird little fish that lived in holes they dug into aquarium rocks. None of these sparked much interest. It wasn't until we got to the open tank of STINGRAYS that my two came alive. Claire hopped up on the step stool thing in order to reach in, but Ava was still too short. I propped her up with my knee. An aquarium employee came over and asked if I had any questions. I asked the one I thought that she'd expect from any loving mother who's babies were dipping their grimy little paws into a tank full of STINGrays "do they sting?" I intoned with the correct amount of concern. "Oh no" she said "we clip off the stingers". I knew I was supposed to gasp in horror and exclaim "but doesn't that HURT them??" but I didn't really care. I turned back to Claire and Ava to discover their sleeves wet up to their elbows. Aaahh! I wrung them out the best I could and rolled them up, aware that the couple standing next to us was observing our activities with unveiled interest. The woman began to ask the usual questions about their ages and ethnicities. I don't mind these kinds of questions at all ... I think it is kind of people to show interest in my wacky life. I answered cheerfully, even adding I was expecting again ("I must be really crazy ha ha"). I turned back around but no Claire! I tucked kicking Ava under my arm and prepared to charge around like a crazy mom yelling "Claire? CLAAAIIIIRRRREEE!!!" but had to first go back for Ava's dropped shoe. Finally, clutching my bag, stray shoe and screeching stingray obsessed child, I began my running around calling routine. Claire soon came out from behind a display and all was well.

I looked at the handful of papers I'd been handed along with tickets and noted that a seal feeding was scheduled in 20 minutes. Fortuitous! I pulled Claire toward the seal enclosure (which acted like a really strong magnet ... only when I managed to get them far enough away, could they turn their attention to other things) and to the seal place where Ava wanted to get in with the seals. I wasn't so opposed to that except she first had to make it down three or four very steep and dirty steps. I was so tired by then I was afraid I'd topple down if I tried to carry her. So I set her down at the top and grabbed her hand, thinking she could walk down the steps while I prevented her from falling. But she had something else in her mind ... specifically that I would carry her down BY her arm. Which, in the end, I did. Exhausted at the bottom, I sat on a step and pointed weakly to the torpedo shaped mammals whizzing around in the water filled tank now six inches from our faces. Ava wasn't impressed. She turned and began crawling up those filthy steps. "Oh heaven help me!" I thought, got to my feet and, in the end, carried her UP the steps suspended by her chubby baby arm. Meanwhile, Claire was falling in love with seals and their funny sealness. I called for her but she remained glued to the glass (at the bottom of the steps). With a resigned sigh, I carried Ava back down the stairs by her arm, got Claire's attention and then we somehow made it to the top, all three of us.

Now you can imagine I was hoping against hope that the seal feeding was just moments away. But, after digging my phone out of my bag while chasing the girls between boat displays, I saw that time had stood still and only three measly minutes had passed since I initially noted the only twenty remaining until seal feeding time. I, helpless optimist, had been rounding DOWN to get to twenty minutes in the beginning ... it had actually been twenty TWO minutes until seal feeding time, making it nineteen long minutes still to wait. The random suspension of time is one of the most profound effects of having young children.

I looked hopefully around the boat display room and saw one of those photograph platforms with holes cut out in a board so your child can stand behind and poke her head through while you take pictures from the other side. I've never been a fan of these things but the girls discovered that this one had a raised and carpeted platform in the back which was great fun for standing. I sat heavily on the edge of it while the girls tirelessly climbing up and down from the platform (Ava) and by poked heads through the cutout thingies (Claire). This passed five relatively peaceful minutes. But then, "real parents" (with cameras and strollers and reasonably spaced children) started coming by and sending their children behind the board (where they encountered a strange woman with two feral looking toddlers) so they could take pictures.

Feeling a bit like a predator camped out back there, I got up and pulled the girls off to a bench to sit between two women who looked surprised that a stranger wouldn't mind parking herself between them. I didn't mind at all. Most of the time, Claire is a compliant and sweet little thing who will actually stay close when I ask her to. Ava no. I held her squirmy little self half way on my lap while she cried and tried to wiggle down and simultaneously issued orders to Claire every five seconds to not wander away. This lasted a brief time before Claire gave me a naughty look and ran around a corner. "Claire!" I yelled. One of my benchmates asked if she should hold Ava so I could go get Claire. Can you believe how NICE (and foolish) people can be?? I knew that wouldn't work with Ava in her current mood so I hoisted her under my arm along with my bag and went after Claire.

I caught up with her back by the boats. With just twelve more minutes to go (remember that Johnny Cash song about the poor guy waiting to be hanged?) and I felt I'd waited too long to forgo valuable entertainment like sealfeeding. This is what I call "throwing good minutes after bad". I spent the remaining minutes just chasing behind them as they raced around the boats squealing. Two minutes before feeding time, I reholstered Ava and forcibly pulled Claire away from the boats and back to the seal area. I managed to overcome their reluctance with lots and lots of enthusiastic talk about seals and feeding seals ("wow girls, we're going to get to see the seals have their lunch!!!") We sat among the crowd on one of the higher steps where Ava discovered she could, from her seat on my lap, kick the people in front of us. I apologized but not profusely (I had little energy available for non vital activities like apologizing) and reigned in those meaty little legs. Ava protested and tried to get down, Claire stayed to the farthest reaches of my vision and I checked my phone for the time. Two minutes late and no sign of any feeding. I was tired. I'd had it. I was angry! "What the F^$%!" I exclaimed in the angry frustration that, from my experience, only pms or pregnancy plus small children can generate. I ignored the looks, stood up abruptly with Ava implanted under my aching arm, grabbed Claire and MARCHED out of there.

Oh failure. Fail.Ure. The worst part of it, I could see right away, was my deplorable language in a room full of adults and children all enjoying a Saturday outing to the aquarium. I hobbled back to the entrance head down in defeat to strike off to the car which was once more a block and a street crossing away. I snapped mercilessly at Claire to keep her on the sidewalk ten feet or fewer in front of me. I looked into the eager happy faces of the normal people entering the aquarium and felt shame, envy, and some urge to warn them. Of course, they didn't need to be warned ... they clearly had everything under control. And now that the weird swearing lady with the entire preschool class was gone, nothing stood between them and a lovely time looking at fish and water dwelling mammals.

God knows when we are at the point of despair and he mercifully acts on our behalf. Halfway up the block, there was a bench. And on the bench was one of those obnoxious girls asking every passing family if they'd like to get their children into modeling. She proffered lollipops as she asked me the modeling question. I said "no" but could we possibly have lollipops anyway. She kindly gave us two and I sat on the bench, not caring about anyone ruining their lunch or getting sticky, just breathing in the fresh air and feeling grateful for that bench and silence inducing lollipops. I quietly rooted for our salesgirl friend as she accosted each passing family until Claire began to wander again. Feeling just refreshed enough to make it down the rest of the block, across the street, to the parking booth (to pay), down the elevator and to the car, I did.

We then drove to John's office to see how he was doing. He asked about the aquarium. Was it fun? I told him "yes, but I won't be doing that again any time soon". How could I explain what I'd just been through? Our visit to the aquarium is not unlike many of my days. I just can't quite remember all of the craziness to be able to relate it back to anyone. Not that John has the patience to listen anyway. He's got a million other things going on in his mind. So I am very glad I took the time to relate all of this to you. I really needed to share!