Cloudy with a Chance of Sugar Cookies

So, remember how I mentioned my two brothers visiting us from New York? Well one of them was kind enough to bring with him a souvenir from his last beach trip to Panama City, Florida. Remembering that I asked him to please "bring the beach home with you" he brought a small vial of sand and seashells just for me to hold in my daydreamy little hands.

Apparently, I should have never let it go because less than 24 hours later the entire contents were dumped into a small body of water from the busy hands of one young Grayson Cousteau.



























(at least he's putting the lid back on like a responsible little delinquent)


Once I discovered what happened, I gently reprimanded by explaining that you can't put anything in Snapper's fish tank. "However," I added, "sand and seashells were a happy mistake."

Wrong word choice. I'm pretty sure the only word he remembered from that life lesson was happy because maybe five minutes later I found another situation; similar but with a more sophisticated palette. Same fish tank, same poor fish, different ingredients. Grayson treated Snapper to milk and cookies. He tossed the rest of his sippy cup's milk (gack, the backwash!) and peppered the tank with pink, blue, and yellow sugar cookie sprinkles from the pantry. If it wasn't like watching Flipper try to swim in the sky I would've pulled up a beanbag chair and enjoyed all the pretty colors twist and freckle about in the rainbow milkwater.

But I lost my sh*t instead.

"Grayson! What did you DO?!?"

"Mommy, he likes milk and sprinkles. I was giving Snapper a...."

"A heart attack?!?! Grayson, he's going to suffocate in there!!! DO YOU HEAR ME CHILD? He's not going to make it - We have to get him out of there before he DIES!!!!"

And then I ran around like Snapper had less than 3 minutes to live in a bath of milk and sugar. I grabbed the tank, remembered our disposal is broken (we are breaking the spirit of this house but that's another post altogether) and sloshed the tank around the upstairs until I decided my bathtub was the smartest place for an emergency detox procedure.

Grayson hung low like a scolded hound dog and finally disappeared somewhere under the covers.
I ran downstairs to get the colander, plastic cup, and a thousand paper towels. You can never have too many paper towels. I wasn't going to be knee deep in blue rocks and fishpoo without nature's finest quicker picker upper.

Fifteen minutes later Snapper emerged in a sparkly new tank with even a little plant and pirate rock renovation. I studied him as he gulped at the new water with alarming speed which made me question his vitals.

"Grayson?" I found him in the guest bedroom with bedsheets pulled so high his toes poked out.

No answer.

"Honey. I'm sorry for scaring you earlier (and scarring you earlier but that's fodder for your own retaliatory blog in the distant future). It's just that I wasn't sure if Snapper was going to make it if I didn't hurry. Did I scare you?"

He yanked the covers from his face to reveal a sweaty head and an impish grin. "No Mommy. You don't scare me. I like it when you're mad. I think it's funny. Is Snapper dead?"

"No. Not yet. I mean, I think he's going to be okay. The jury's still out but I think we saved him in time."

"I'm sorry I gave my milk to Snapper, Mommy. I wanted him to play in the sand and hide under the milk. I didn't know it would make it white in his tank. Why did it make it all white in there, Mommy? Why did the sand just fall to the bottom but the milk made it white all over and why didn't Snapper like the white water and how come..."

"Honey? Let's take this inquisition upstairs. Let's see if you can talk and scrub a sandy bathtub at the same time."



We so need preschool. We're beyond ready.

Especially Snapper.