All drains lead to the ocean. . .

This post is dedicated to the brief, but dedicated friendship of Pickles the goldfish who last Friday took the watery ride toward the pearly gates. May he float in peace.

Pickles was purchased via bribery payments paid to Adam, by us, for going poop on the toilet. After months of trying everything from candy to stickers to public humiliation (kidding) we finally found that quarters were the trick to getting Adam to poop on the toilet rather than hunched quietly in the corner demanding "privacy". I had previously resigned myself to the fact that I would be writing a letter to Huggies, pleading that they produce a size 18 Pull-Up Diaper for my son as he entered 8th grade, but something about those shiny coins caught his eye and we were on a roll. He had already saved enough quarters for two trips to The Dollar Store, so to keep things exciting I challenged him to save ten quarters and in turn promised a trip to the pet store to pick out a goldfish. Now when I said goldfish, I was really thinking betta. You know, one of those fish that live in a very small container with really no effort on my part? Adam had in his head, Nemo. He really had his heart set on an orange fish and how can you say no to those pleading three-year old eyes, his tiny fist gripping ten shiny quarters, each earned by intense, laborous poops? You can't. And since orange bettas are not found in nature, or at least not in our local PetSmart, we spent fifteen dollars on supplies for a $0.12 (yes, 12 CENT) goldfish that poops twice as much as he eats, cloulding his bowl and smelling up the house in a matter of days. Now, perhaps it was that I added the water conditioner while Pickles was in the water, or maybe that I didn't let him adjust to the temperature of his new home before dumping him in, or it may even be the ill thoughts I wished upon him while cleaning his bowl a mere three days after his arrival, but I tell myself and will tell Adam in the future, that Pickles was merely a feeder goldfish and simply because of that, his life expectancy was short.

And short it was. . . . . Five days after welcoming Pickles into our family his tiny flapping gils gave out. Because we weren't sure how to approach it and more so because we are chicken shit parents, we set Adam up to find Pickles in his new condition. (yes, I could have easily replaced Pickles with another $0.12 goldfish, but I had my hopes on a different kind of goldfish) When it was time to feed Pickles, Adam climbed up the chair and peered in the bowl. It went down something like this:

Adam: Momma? (calling from the dining room) I don't think Pickles wants to eat right now.

Me: (from the kitchen) Really? Why not (yes I'm a horrible, horrible person)

Adam: Momma? I don't think Pickles wants to swim right now.

Me: (now looking in the bowl as well) Oh, honey, Pickles died.

Adam: (confused looked)

Me: Pickles isn't going to swim anymore, he's broken. Maybe we can get a different kind of goldfish that won't break as easily. (The devil horns are coming in quite nicely, thank you)

Adam: Yes, a better goldfish. Pickles isn't swimming anymore.

Me: How about we bury Pickles in the backyard.

Adam: (a look that says I am the craziest MF-er he's ever encountered for wanting to put a fish in dirt)

Me: I have a better idea. . . . how about we flush Pickles down the toilet and he can go live with Nemo!

Adam: Oh yes, yes!

Note: For those of you that have not been subjected to the viewing of Disney's Nemo 128 times, it is proposed in the film that "all drains lead to the ocean" and in an attempt to get back to his dad, Nemo first tries a toilet and then eventually throws himself down a sink drain to successfully return to the ocean.

Adam scrambled down the chair and into the bathroom demanding that he be both the dumper and the flusher of the tiny aquatic carcass. I of course agreed, surprised at his eagerness to send Pickles on his way, but relieved that he was as happy as I was that this fish was leaving our home. We all huddled around the toilet and before a single word of remembrance could be spoken Adam had dumped and flushed and was shouting, "Bye-bye, Pickles!" as our friend slipped down his watery grave in symbolic fashion of the fates that had brought him to us in the first place.

Pickles' fish bowl still stands empty, partly because a free Saturday hasn't rolled around to find a replacement, but mostly because Adam hasn't even mentioned it. Although he has mentioned on many occasions that Pickles is swimming happily in the ocean with Nemo and his dad. I guess we all have our own version of Heaven.