The day my child fell into the fish pond

Today's trip to the library began like any other. We felt fortunate to be accompanied by Grandma, and we had our traditional two-hour search for that last library book that always alludes us. So we were off to the great Idaho Falls Public Library. As usual, the kids and Grandma visited the fish while I got my books on hold. They reviewed the rules of not scaring the fish and not throwing rocks into their home. We had a wonderful time searching for books in the children's section. We found Curious George books, books about farm animals, hippos and other fun animals. We checked out and were doing great.

As usual, we went back to the fish pond to await Grandpa's arrival so that he and Grandma could continue their adventures looking for bargains on furniture and other fun grandparent stuff, and me and the kiddos planned to return home to make dinner. Things were going great. Abbie and Nathan were playing nicely in the atrium, and Andrew was being his usual delightful self. Then I heard it. The splash. You know that splash--the one that accompanies a high diver as they make the less than perfect entry into the water. As I turned around, I saw Nathan sitting in the fish pond with a look of absolute shock on his dripping face.

I quickly pulled him from the pond and tried to assess the damage. I saw the huge puddle he was leaving all over the library floor, and I knew we had to get out of there before our library privileges were revoked for generations. Over my shoulder, as I am dragging a dripping aquarium smelling three-year old out as fast as I can, I yell in my best panic-ridden library voice to Grandma that I'll meet her and the other kids at the van. Nathan keeps saying, "I am so wet. I fell in the fish tub." We leave a wet trail for Grandma and kids to follow as we make it to the van, where I find an old towel and blanket to try and make the situation better. Fortunately, I have extra pull ups in the diaper bag (I have since determined that this is the one and only advantage to toilet training). I strip him and dry him off as best as I can. Dress him in the extra pull ups and strap him into his car seat as to protect any other unsuspecting wild life and drape my picnic blanket over my mostly naked child.

Grandpa soon arrived, and we ventured to our house --aquarium smell fully intact. I really don't know why I am surprised that this occurred. Anyone that has known me for very long knows that if there is a bog, puddle or swamp within a 500 yard radius of my foot, I will step in it. In fact, during my childhood, I believe I stepped in every sink hole in at least three counties. I am forced to wonder if my poor child has inherited this horrible genetic deformity. Why couldn't the poor kid get my love for reading or my ability to balance a checkbook? No, the poor kid obviously tried for the uncoordination/bog-finding gene.

We are home now and everything but his shoes are fish smell free. Still pondering the solution to that one. I hope the fish are doing alright. I was afraid to go back in and see if they were swimming upside down. Do I dare check my library account and see if I have been charged one enormous fine to replace the fish my child scared to death or a mopping fee for the puddle and trail of water we left on the floor?

Oh, fishies please be OK. We really want to come visit the library again. I promise I'll try harder to keep the kids out of the fish tub. We'll give you three weeks of Farmer free recovery time, but then our books will be due that is if our privileges haven't been revoked.

And that my friends is the story of the day my child fell into the fish pond.