the wiener mom and another one of those open letters

In this season of happy holidays and wishes for peace and joy; it is heartbreaking to witness ruthless acts of violence against other species (Pinktail, I am talking to you)

Interspecies fish violence has no place in a fish tank, not during this season of merriment nor ever, really. The kind of unimaginable fish violence that took place in the aquarium last week shows that even during these peaceful times at 2352 Monroe Street there are still those living among us capable of what can only be interpreted as random acts of fish to fish violence.

Swordtail was a kind fish, a quiet fish, an elder if you will and not particularily good looking, but all the same he was big wiener's favorite fish. In short, Swordtail had never done nor said anything that would have incited this level of violence. Yet, he is gone. His sad fish carcass floating at the top of the tank, throat slitted and gutted.

We carried his lifeless body in a ziploc bowl to Pat the fish man, who by ways of a sort of aqua-racial profiling, pronounced Pinktail the likely perpetrator. "But", we said, defending him, "all he does is hang out in the upper left quadrant of the tank." Pat's reply?
"He probably acts differently when he knows you're not watching him." (?)

So, Pinktail, just because you measure a few inches larger than the other fish, just because your teeth are visible and you descend from a species of predators, does not mean that we will condone your unsportsfishlike behavior. We are watching you and even when you think we are not watching you, we will be, so clean up your act!

In conclusion Swordtail, you will be missed, you were a good fish. But, alas you won't be missed too much or too long because you have been replaced by a lively posse of tiger barbs.

the wiener mom and the second most perfect sentence ever written

"Can he get sheep in the pet shop?"

spelled perfectly (of course) by big wiener.

several questions...

1. Who buys sheep in a pet shop? What kind of a pet shop might this be? Would these be sheep from sheep mills?

2.Pet shop just screams impulse buy to me. Who buys sheep on a whim? the whole tone of the question is panicky. It's a sheep emergency! He needs sheep now! he's been driving all over the city for the g. damn sheep! he has a sheep buying deadline!

3. Just how many sheep does he need? Obviously more than one, but how many? Unless you're getting like a whole big posse (herd might be the word I'm looking for) what's the point? You can't shear like 3 sheep and make anything warmer than a toaster cozy I imagine. But then again maybe that's the emergency; his toaster is cold.

the wiener mom contemplates her job

The impetus for contemplation: Got an email from big wiener's teacher this morning. "Forgot his shoes, can wear his boots, but is upset."

Damn.

First snowfall last night, so the first day of snow pants, boots, mittens, and... shoes in the backpack, oops.

My first instinct is to hop in the car with the smaller wieners, dash over to school and drop off a pair of shoes, what would be so wrong about that?
Problem: little wiener has a massive case of grossness coming out of both ends, so packing him up in the car unless it's ABSOLUTELY necessary is a risky proposition.
Also, middle wiener has an eye doctor appointment that Daddy is doing, then rushing home, and we're driving him to work (only one wienermobile in this family), so by the time we got to school, it would be nearly lunch time and the day would be almost half over.

So... my big wiener sits in class in clunky, sweaty winter boots. He is upset. Does he learn something from this? Do I?

Time magazine recently ran a feature article about over-parenting. Daddy wiener was all over it, posting a link to it on Facebook, wanting to send copies to all our parent friends. One of the main points was that children who are never "bored" never figure out how to be creative. I read the article at his insistence and it covered a lot of points we talk about frequently.

When we were kids our parents didn't play with us. We were pretty much fending for ourselves on the entertainment front. My mom would read to us, but that was it. We spent summer days outside roaming the neighborhood with friends. We didn't go to tennis, tee ball and golf all in the same week (not our wieners, someone else's).

Now, our kids expect to be entertained, played with not just sometimes, but pretty constantly. How does that expectation begin?

When I was a baby there were playpens and I was in one a goodly amount of time. My mom cooked, cleaned, sewed her own nursing pads from cloth diapers (very ambitious lady). I entertained myself, with a rattle, the ceiling fan, my toes, whatever.

When big wiener was a baby I somehow had the feeling that if I did anything but pay complete attention to him I was cheating him. I rattled the rattle, I showed him his toes, I read to him constantly. Now, those aren't bad things, but where did I get the idea that I had to entertain him constantly? I can't say. But, I did and he grew up to be a child that expected companionship at all times. Now, at age 7 he can happily go upstairs to his room and play legos alone, but would prefer daddy build with him.

We're trying to do better with the younger wieners, but once they expect the attention you feel like a prize a-hole for denying them over and over. It has become easier with little wiener, mostly because the other two wieners entertain him for us.

So, back to the boots. Do I swoop in and rescue him? Or, do I hope that he learns something natural consequency? Do I soothe him now? Or, do I let him develop his cause and effect problem solving skills?

This time, I'm going to hope he's learned something and NOT go to school, but next time what if it's his lunch? I think starvation might be my limit. There is hot lunch, but if he's upset about wearing boots all day, the level of ire over ingesting hot lunch will be off the charts.

Sometimes this motherhood thing hurts my brain.