Dad Entry #179

Megan was crabby this morning. She generally lacks the inspiration or staying power to make it memorable. She loses steam and just isn’t willing, if we put her crabbiness on a scale like hotwing hotness, to go for habanero or ghost pepper. Today, however, she was really displeased. I sensed an uncommon, burgeoning potency! I braced for a sustained episode, but, alas, we didn’t get there; we pretty much never get there. It was off to school as usual, with smiles and I-love-you’s and nothing spectacularly negative. For one thing, I’m no help. I stay composed. It’s entirely up to Megan to hit any kind of hysterical crescendo. And she’s never been very conniption-y. She’s just a crab sometimes.

Our fish tank is thriving. There is a gross and scary amount of refuse in the blue gravel, and every surface is mossy – kind of like my unbrushed teeth when falling asleep with books has perpetrated lengthy neglect – but without exception, all of the creatures and plants in our 25 gallons are flourishing. I am referring to our real plants, whose serpentine roots can afford to be lazy; there is nutritious poop everywhere. But in all fairness, our fake plants look very happy too, like smiling mannequins, with green, fuzzy algae for hair. The umpteen snails and three plecostomuses are all very active and plump, and the non-suckerfish fish look healthy also, as they dart and glide this way and that. It’s been forever since I had to flush any rigid remains. On one side of the tank, there’s a house that triggers territorial behavior and turf wars, and on the other side, some Roman column ruins (a replica, unfortunately). The rest is foliage. It’s just a very messy and wonderful little world.

My kids don’t use the fan. Twice this week I’ve been unpleasantly surprised. I’m referring to the bathroom fan, if you haven’t jumped there already. “Guys, it’s easy,” I tell the kids, “Just flip the switch, you know, whenever you can describe your situation with a number that is plural.” Does Megan think I’m talking about math? Is Michael that oblivious to his gut-punching, tear-jerking aftereffects? I tell them, “I don’t care if you’ve eaten asparagus; I’m not calling for courtesy flushes; I’m not demanding you replace empty TP rolls; I’m not asking you to scrub the toilet; I just need you to TURN ON THE FAN! Flip the switch! And leave it flipped when you’re done and gone; it will do its work, yes, and also give us a little WARNING!”