Cass the Dog

We are on vacation with your Kiki and Pops and their dog, Cassie. No, this letter is not about how you can now say "Cass" and you STILL can't say "Mama." This letter is about how obsessed you have become with this dog. You kiss her face (which I try to discourage because she eats her own poop), you take her for walks, you feed her Cheerios and crackers, and you've even sampled some dog food (oops).

However, our vacation is coming to an end and that will mean, no more Cass. So, your Kiki bought the stuffed dog above as a replacement. Think it will work?

The Ghost of Halloween

Wow, what an eventful day so far! We woke up early, you left us a spooky treat in your diaper overnight, coffee, breakfast, put together a Goblin Goulash in the crock pot, killed your pet fish, messed up a butter cream frosting for our Halloween cake...

What? I know, I was disappointed with the icing too. I must not have brought the simple syrup up to 240 degrees?! Maybe my candy thermometer is broken...

WHAT? Oh. The fish. Right. Son, I am sorry to tell you that on Halloween, 2009, your first pet, Swishy the Fishy, passed on to a better place. Why? Well, son, death is a part of life. All of God's creatures will one day go on to heaven.

Also, he really needed the water in his bowl changed and we may have overfed him. Like, a lot.

Oh Jackson, fishies don't have a very long life expectancy! There was nothing any of us could have done! Except for changing his water more often and feeding him less like we were told.

I guess we should have seen it coming. The real Swisher was benched Game 2 of the World Series. A sign? Maybe. A less clear sign than murky water, but a sign nonetheless. One can only hope that Swishy the Fishy will cast good, heavenly vibes upon us for Game 3 tonight. And one can only hope that you won't ever ask for a fish again, because your father and I are clearly NOT marine biologists.

Farewell, Swishy. You were once loved by a boy named Jackson. Happy Halloween. Go Yankees.

Swishy the Fishy!

I just changed your pet fish's water and it was not an easy task. When you're old enough to ask for a puppy I'm in trouble.

The afternoon began with you and I at the pet store. We needed to buy a new fish bowl for Swishy. Swishy was your fishy. Who knows? Maybe Swishy will still be alive when you read this. But I highly, highly doubt that. On day one of Swishy's life with us, your father dropped him down the garbage disposal. We really didn't think Swishy would live another day after that trauma, but here he is nearly a month later.

So, at the creepy pet store, where I'm pretty sure some dog fighting was going down in the back, we bought Swishy a new bowl (his old bowl was leaking), a net and a bamboo stick. The guy said bamboo sticks are good for beta fish to nibble on. I don't even know if Swishy is a beta, but, I'm just going to go ahead and believe he is because otherwise I've done something terribly wrong.

Back at home, it was time to transfer bowls. I used the little net and put Swishy in a clear, plastic cup. I felt terrible. Watching him swim around and around in circles, probably wondering where his daddy was in the big blue ocean like Nemo... so sad. Therefore, I tried to hurry the process along, because I might also have been slightly convinced that Swishy was going to jump out of the cup like a cartoon. In my rush, little fish pebbles went everywhere. Water went everywhere. Fish poop probably went everywhere, if fish poop is something that exists.

But, again Swishy pulled through and here's proof:

Um, if you can't tell, in this picture he's already nibbling at the bamboo. God I hope that's a beta fish. If Swishy, named after a New York Yankee, dies during the playoffs I'm in trouble with your father...