Goldfish: Past and Present

I had goldfish as a little girl.  I remember when my Dad took me to Kmart and bought me a 10-gallon aquarium. He let me pick which rocks I wanted (azure blue) and which statue I wanted (a magenta and purple grotto) and finally which fish.  Out of the tank of 89-centers I picked my fave.  And named him Goldy.
When Goldy died, I got Goldy 2.
Followed by Goldy 3.
And then Goldy 4.
And the suffixed numbers in their name were pronounced.  If someone asked my fish's name I would tell them, "Goldy Three." 
After Goldy 4 my next fish was Neptune.  He was also a goldfish.  Maybe it was a break of the Goldy Curse but I had Neptune so long and he go so big I called and donated him to the Pittsburgh Zoo.  He needed a bigger habitat than I could provide.  As an adult, this story seems far-fetched.  I was 10.  I had a goldfish I thought was outgrowing it's aquarium so I called the zoo.  And with my altruistic heart, donated my .89 cent fish to the zoo.  What a philanthropist!

When we moved back to Idaho Falls, this past Thanksgiving, I took the boys over to see my neighbor Lee.  He and his wife are also from da Burgh and live right behind us.  In his basement he had 3 huge 'UGE aquariums.  The big 55 gallon monsters.  The boys were mezza-merized.   The next day Lee called and said he was gonna give the boys one of his aquariums for Christmas if I was okay with it.  Psht.  Hell Yeah!  Lee kept his fish and we got one gorgeous tank.  In time (after the proper bacteria had accumulated) we got three little fish of our own.  I named mine Ari Gold, Ken named him Gilligan, and Kole was at a loss on what to name his.  I started naming some names he liked; "Gordon," "Thomas," "Scotty," "Koley," "Charlie," "Tony,"
At which point Kole yelled, "Yeah!  PONY!"
So Tony became Pony and we had our fish named.
Now little Pony had some birth defects.  He looked like a hunchback goldfish.  His poor fin was stunted and he looked like he'd been picked on a lot.  I felt bad for Pony.  There goes that over-sized heart again.  I did my best to treat Pony well...nay.  I did my best to treat Pony way better than the other fish.
Which, I mean, is hard to do with fish.
But I'd put in extra food in where he was swimming and... well... that's it.
Come on.  What other ways are there?
I did always tell Kole and Joey to be nice to him and not talk about his funny fin.
He was our fish. And we were happy to have him. And we loved him no matter what.
I really felt good to have Pony safe in our tank.
Where no other fish could pick on him.
Or call him mean Fish Names behind his dorsal.  Or post rumors on their Fish Facebook pages.  Or unkindly mimic his crooked swimming.
He was safe from all the bullying in my tank.  Under my aquatic maternal wing.
Things were calm under the water.
But then one day, at dinner time, I noticed Pony chasing Ari and Gil away from the food.  He'd just swim real fast by them and kinda surprise them so they'd swim away.
I was shocked!
"Pony!  Be nice to them!"
Which probably sounded like "OOOnnnnnnN!  Ooouu gauoouuu mmmm!"
You know.  *clears throat* Under water sounds weird.
I tapped on the glass by him as a warning.  You know.  I'm in charge, Pony.  You listen up!
Needless to say my disciplining had no effect WHATsoever!
Pony just kept pestering the other fish. And not just at breakfast and dinner.  He was bullying them for pleasure.

 The drilling is Ken working on our shelving- but it kinda fits the scene.  Does it not?

When I discussed the issue with Ken- he was completely flippant.
"They're fish, babe."
"Yes.  They are.  And one fish is mistreating the other fish."
He didn't seem all too bothered by it.  Where's your heart, man!

I stayed up thinking about Pony:
He was probably bullied at some point in his life.
He looks weird.  He swims funny.  I bet he's been made fun of.
He's probably had a hard time making friends.  He's just passing it on.  He doesn't know any better.  This is how bullies are.
Maybe he comes from a single-parent home.  Maybe he's missed out on loving relationships.
Maybe he's suffering from depression or anxiety.  Maybe he misses the big tank at the pet store.
Maybe he views himself negatively and just needs steady positive reinforcement.

At this point I started dreaming up my business cards:
Patty Poulsen, PhD
Fish Psychologist

For 3 days I watched Pony bully my other two fish.
I watched Ari and Gilligan try to make themselves shrink and swim in smaller and smaller circles.
No amount of glass tapping and above-to-underwater scolding was reaching this dang fish!
One morning.  I woke up.  And Gil and Ari were hiding in the plant while Pony swam circles around them occasionally nosediving at them.
That was it!  I could justify his behavior...NO MORE!
I got a Mason jar.  Filled it up.  And scooped Pony into it.
"You're in Solitary Confinement today, Mister!  That's right The SHU!  Get used to it, Meanie!"


My next step was obvious.
Call the pet store.
They told me their policy for aquatic animals was 14 days for full refund.
So, after the kids went to bed, and after a full day in The Box for Pony I toted him back to Petco.
Their first question after realizing he wasn't dead was "Is he sick?"
I explained he was perfectly healthy and that he was just mean.
The two men just stared at me.
"What?," I said.
"You are returning him... because... he's mean?"
"Yeah." (I was not getting their surprise.)  "He's a bully.  And he's terrorizing my other fish and I don't want him in my aquarium.  He's too mean."
They just kept staring at me.  Mouths a-dropped.
So I continued, "Your return policy stipulates 14 days.  I'm under that mark.  I no longer want this aggressive fish.  I am returning him.  I have my receipt."
At which time I handed over Pony.  In the jar.  With my receipt.
And you bet your butt I got my dollar sixty-five back. Psht.  I also told the pet store people they should let prospective buyers know about Pony's past.  But I think they quit listening after they handed me my change and dumped Pony back in the tank with 35 other one-inch goldfish.

A few days later, after Ari and Gil felt comfortable swimming in the open water again we got 3 more fish to complete our aquarium.

And, thank heaven, they all seem to be getting along swimmingly.

Harvey

Gilligan (Gil)

CiCi

Shelby

Ari Gold

Patty Pity Party

I'm floating through life right now.
Not because everything is so grand and easy and sunny.
Because I'm too tired to swim.
Or tread water.

There are no spectacular problems in my life. 
Just regular ol' dreary problems.


My birdfeeder is empty. (Literally... that's not a metaphor)
I ran out of the feed I normally put in (for the songbird hoppers) about a week ago.  I put in some big seedy mix I found in the garage.  There was a few days without birds and then there were really rough looking birds that came and ate all the food.  They were like mutt birds.  Not a robin, not a dove.  But like an oriole wren mix.  Or a robin cardinal mix.  Weird. Big.  A little scary looking. I'm sure they need the food as much as the little guys- but they're lingering.  Even with the food gone.  Like this is their new route or something.  I don't want a bunch of bird bullies back there. 

I've had my sneakers leaned up against my back step for like 3 weeks.  I keep walking past them and saying, "Put those away, Patty."  But I don't.  And I bet there's mice and bugs living in them.  So I can't pick them up now.

I planted some wildflower seeds outside my back deck door.  They were supposed to grow in partial shade.  But I think it must have been a mislabeled packet.  They sprouted.  And now... they're kinda sickly, spindly, pale stems.  Most of them are just lying in the dirt.

There are little toy trucks and lego pieces and plastic farm animals and kid books ev-err-ee-where.  And instead of helping Kole pick it all up and put it where it goes, I want to get a garbage back.  And toss it all.

I spent three days last week doing all the laundry, organizing all our closets, and packing away the winter coats and clothes.  It was a monstrous project.  And now, the hamper is full.  Again!  And I had to put an extra laundry basket by the hamper because it was overflowing so bad.  I wish I was out of laundry soap so I had an excuse not to do it.


I bought three hanging baskets from Costco in an effort to spruce up my yard. One is thriving.  The other two I over-watered (maybe?) and then under-watered (perhaps?) and now I'm trying to resurrect them.  Sadly, the only place to put them in order to ensure they receive proper drainage is on the hooks on the front porch.  In full view of all passer-by-ers and visitors.  And they look incredibly sad and trashy.  I'm embarrassed.... but refusing to say they are dead.  Ken tells me everyday though... "Those flowers are dead.  Take them down."

I have a toothache.  But just got a crown put on... so nows not a great time.
Our super fun pool doesn't have a draining plug on the bottom.  So I have to step on the sides every other day and have all these gross bug parts and wings and leaves touch my legs.
I just opened my second pack of contacts and they aren't labeled.  And I can't tell if I have them in the right eye or the wrong eye and it's hurting.
Church with little little kids... is awful.  And sticky.  And not spiritually uplifting.
My Subaru's been smelling weird and I found an old moldy bottle spilled under the passenger seat. 
I can't beat Level 65 on Candy Crush Saga.  And I'm starting to feel dumb for trying.  (Just starting to though.)
Potty-training takes so long and there's so much whining.  I just want to put him in a diaper and say, "There!  Happy?"
I didn't get any mail on Friday or Saturday.  Not even bills.
There's a hole in my screen door smaller then a pencil eraser and, like, 8 or 9 bees get in a day.  Tape won't stick to it.

I just feel off.  I'm doing what I should.  I'm the above your above average mom.  I take the family fun places...we do fun things...

There's nothing really wrong...

... it just feels like...
...a lot.

The Horrible Hoorah.

Even after you find out you're pregnant and the excitement quickly wanes due to Tilt-A-Whirl sensations of nausea.  Even after you successfully avoid the smell of cottage cheese, Greek yogurt, and bananas for 3 months to disengage your gag-reflux.  Even after you quit all physical and fun activities you used to do in order to safely carry your child.  Even after you toot/fluff/burst for several months and hope someone thinks it's the old person next to you.  Even after you sleep sitting up for 3 months.  Even after you wear ugly clothes that don't fit you... at all.  Even after that stretched out, purply, ugly belly hangs half way to your knees for 2 months.  Even after you go through fake contractions that don't feel fake at all.  Even after you finally get to the hospital cry and moan and push and cry cry cry.  Even after they carve that baby out of your stomach... using a knife.  Even after you can't stand up straight for several weeks after the baby.  Even after it hurts to go to the bathroom for a couple months.  Even after all the swelling "down there" is gone.  Even after your scar doesn't burn all day... just when it gets touched (or bumped into).  Even after you're not dizzy any more and you get a solid chunk of sleep again at night.  Even after you quit crying over little things, and big things, and happy things, and funny things, and every time you look at the baby, and every time you look at the clock, and any time you cry because you've been crying all day and it's dark out now.  Even after your chest is no longer engorged and your butt is following the suit of motherhood.
Even after you start to feel like a human being again. 
Even after you look in the mirror and with grit and determination say, "I can fix this mess."
Even after you think you've recovered from all pregnancy and labor and newborns throw at you....

You lose your hair.
At like 6 or 7 months after the baby comes.
And it is just so.  So. Cruel.
I supposed  it is the last.... horrible.... Hoo-rah.


P.S.  I haven't forgot about The Bloggies! (Well.  Actually, I did.  Until Julie reminded me.)  Coming this week peeps.  Prepare your speeches.

Bed Wars

When me and Ken were engaged one of the things I was most excited about was living together... mostly sharing a bed.  All that cuddle time and extra warmth!  I couldn't wait.  On our honeymoon I fell asleep wrapped in his arms every night.  Sigh.  And woke up all cramped and sore.
Our first night back, in our brand new queen-sized bed, Ken scooted over to put his arm around me.  I stopped him right there.  "Hey, I like to snuggle.  But I like to sleep real good too."
Snuggles stopped. All the crazy spooning to sleep stopped.  Do people really sleep like that?  Is it comfortable to them?
We agreed (slash I declared) that getting restful sleep was better than sharing a romantic snuggle all night.
7 years later.
We still share queen-size bed (that seems to shrink every year) and sleep is anything but restful sleeping next to the Bed Weasel.  Ken steals covers.  Kicks.  Elbows.  Talks.  I'd like to say it's like sleeping next to _______ (<-- some kind of crazy animal) but I can't.  Because it's not like sleeping at all!  It's like being awake and annoyed.  All night.
I have the unfortunate duty of feeding Joey is the middle of the night.  I don't mind feeding the baby.  I hate the Bed Conquering that occurs when I am gone.  Ken not only moves to my side of the bed.  He lays on my pillow.  Da nurrrve.  I'd say half the time when I ask him to move he just rolls over.  The other half he grunts out a "no."  And, really.  He doesn't move.  It's harsh.  And cold.
Ken also does this thing that we call "Talon-ing."  It's when he gets his sharp toenails (his talons) and scrapes and cuts at my feet until I move them out of his way.  He says it's "an accident." BULL-oney.  Don't believe it.
Another night, I had come in from feeding the baby and my side of the bed was still waiting there for me.  What a nice surprise.  I climbed into bed and Ken lifted up the covers for me.  He was totally asleep.  I snuggled in and he put his arm down on me.   I let out a big peaceful sigh and then BOOM!  I got kneed in the butt!  And Ken yelled, "HERE'S YOUR CHRISTMAS CORN!"
I sat up and said "What?!"
But he was sound asleep.
In the morning I asked him what Christmas Corn was and he had no idea.

I'm thinking we need a bigger bed.  Or separate beds.
What about you?  What are your sleeping situations?  What's your tactic for claiming bed space?   Does your bed partner talk all night?
I can guarantee you can't be any worse off than I am.

One Year Ago

On this day last year I got the MRI results that confirmed my brain tumor. It seems like a long time ago.
I remember when the doctor first told me she thought something was wrong. She didn't know what it was but she confirmed my feelings that something wasn't right. I was given order after order for an executive panel of procedures and tests. I arrived at Quest Diagnostics for the first of my tests. I was ushered back to the lab room. I saw the needles. Somewhat longer and thicker than ones used for normal tests. As the nurse rubbed iodine on my arm I asked, "Will it hurt?" She wasn't truthful and told me no.
Looking back I have thought if before I came to Earth if I asked Heavenly Father, "Will it hurt?" He would have said, "Yes, it will hurt."
I have learned that life hurts. Sometimes something happens. And your heart breaks. Something happens that threatens all sense of logic or hope or certainty... sometimes- even faith. You don't feel like a whole person. Something happens and no matter how you emerge, nothing will ever be the same. Your life is changed forever not only by the pain but by facing your need to heal. Healing hurts. Healing beings only when we face the hurt in its full force and then grow through it with all the strength of our soul.
I need to be healed. I am learning that you cannot simply take a day off and return healed. Although I wish I could. Healing is a 5-step process. Maybe more. I'm up to 5 so far.
The first thing I have learned is healing is active.
I have to participate. Ken, my mom, my friends cannot do it for me. You have to face the problem. And the pain. To begin healing you must acknowledge and feel the hurt. You must realize that Heavenly Father is going to help you. That was my first hurtle. I have always had an intense faith in God. Never shaken. I knew God still did miracles. I had seen it happen to other people hundred of times. But had it ever happened to me? Why would God help me?
I found a scripture in Mark.
Mark 9:24- "And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief."
I went to God in tears with the same plea. Help thou mine unbelief. Please. The world was silent. I waited for God to help me. And, in time, He did. Once God confirmed that He would help me I was ready to be cured. I prayed for God to cure me. I asked for a blessing so God would cure me. But the blessing I received said nothing about being restored to perfect health. I was blessed with a knowledge that God loved me and was aware of me and was well pleased. I was blessed with patience to deal with the doctors I would see. I was blessed to stay strong and to be able to endure what lied ahead. I was blessed to rely on my husband. The blessing did not even allude to being cured or healed. Curing and healing are not synonymous.
Cure is medical. Clean, scientific, relatively quick.
Healing may involve a lifelong process of recovery and growth. In spite of- or perhaps because of- enduring physical or emotional pain. It requires time. I prayed for a cure when I really need healing. Whether for cell reconstruction, for emotional recovery, or for spiritual forgiveness, we all need healing. And it takes time and energy.
The second thing I have found is healing is private.
The hymn, "Lord, I would Follow Thee" describes "hidden sorrow" in a "quiet heart."
When I was diagnosed- I didn't want to tell anyone. I didn't want help. I didn't want sympathy. It was a terrible blow. I was so afraid. Afraid of what was going to happen. Afraid of how people would react. Afraid of how my life was going to progress. Or not progress. I couldn't even say the words. The small words brought fear into my life I had never experienced before. I spent a lot of time with hidden sorrow in my quiet heart.
Elder Neal A. Maxwell taught:
There is, in the suffering of the highest order, a point that is reached- a point of aloneness- when the individual must bear it... alone. Even the faithful may wonder if they can take it any more or if they are in some way forsaken.
I first had to face the pain alone. I had to face the hurt alone. I had to face the truth... alone. It was absolutely necessary to do so. I would look in my mirror at home and tell myself my diagnosis and all the facts I knew about it. I wrote it down. I repeated it in my head like a mantra. I kept it inside of me and I faced the pain. It was weeks before I could talk about it. Once I could I felt ready to venture out. I wanted to tell someone. I felt a need to share my hurt. But I didn't know how and I was still too afraid. Hurt is personal. So personal the thought of sharing it literally paralyzed me with fear. I came across my next stepping stone scripture in John.
John 14:27
Peace I leave you, me peace I give unto you; not as the world giveth, give I unto you. let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.
...Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.
My heart swam with confidence. Confidence in God and in myself. I was healing again. Instantly. I was healing again. Healing happens quietly, while you face the pain. It happens over time as you live, work, study, and accept from others. I do not think private healing can happen without the help of others.
This was the third thing I learned.
Once Heavenly Father calmed my troubled heart I opened it to those around me. The outpouring of hope and love was beyond my belief. It was sincere. People honestly cared and possessed the faith I needed to see to carry on. Help came through phone calls, notes, e-mails, blog comments, messages on Facebook, photos, visits, packages, gifts, and my favorite--- treats! I needed people. Friends. To help me heal.
When we have a terrible loss... Or pain. We try to get back to normal. Back to the way things were before. But they will never be the same. Pain changes us.
But, Healing changes us. The fourth thing I leaned is Healing changes us. Healing can help us become more sensitive and awake to life. Healing inspires repentance and obedience. Healing invites gifts of humility and faith. It opens our hearts to profound complexities of truth, beauty, divinity, and grace.
Orson Whitney said:
No pain that we suffer is wasted. It ministers to our educations, to the development of patience, faith, fortitude, and humility. All the suffer..., especially when we endure it patiently, builds up our characters, purifies our hearts, expands our souls, and makes us more tender and charitable.
When you feel pain or hurt or loss, and you make it past the initial shock or fear. You see your life in a new way. I saw my life in a new way. My life is a gift not a burden. Not a trial. I am in charge of my life. I call all the shots in my life. Am I calling the right ones?
Then, change that.
Become new, and fresh, and lovely again.
The fifth thing I have learned is I'm not the only one hurting right now. Someone is hurting. Someone is afraid. Someone is disappointed. Someone feels inadequate. Someone needs a friend. Someone needs to be noticed. Someone needs healed. Sometimes I think that "someone" is only me. But it's not. I can help that someone heal. I can give encouragement and hope and love to that someone just like people are giving it to me. It is necessary for me to help others in order to heal myself.
When Jesus was on this earth his mission was devoted to healing. When He called the twelve apostles, He specifically gave them the power to heal and told them to use their gifts freely. Use the gift to heal freely.
It doesn't always feel that way though, does it?
Now, after a year of medical treatment I wasn't cured like the doctors though I would be. I'm not healed either. Maybe the curing and the healing are going at the same pace. It's hard. Sometimes I feel like I just got the news for the first time. But I'm working on it. Every day. I am working on it. I know that Heavenly Father is going to heal me.
I know because of this scripture:
2 Kings 20:5
"... I have heard thy prayer, I have seen thy tears: behold, I will heal thee."
I will be healed.
I know God lives and I know He will heal me.