Today, Whale and Akeem made a jump for it. (Assisted by Charlie.) Their bowl shattered, and they flopped around. I screamed, cried, and called Eli. I wish that I could tell you that I kept my cool, and handled the situation with grace, but I just didn't. It's quite possible that I would have reacted better if one of my children had broken their arm.
When I was a kid, I brought home a goldfish. Probably from the fair, though I don't really remember. As Dad was helping me transfer my new friend to the bowl, the fish sort of slipped down our kitchen sink drain. I had to reach in and grab it because my Dad's hands were too big. I can still feel that slimy, squirmy fish. Ewww! Ever since then, fish sort of give me the heebie-jeebies. Out of water fish, that is.
So there were Whale and Akeem, flopping around on our carpet, and all I could think was,"I can't touch them! I don't know what to do!" Thankfully, Eli helped me remember that we had the fish net, and I was able to get them into a new, though temporary, home. It took about 30 minutes to clean up the mess. I had to lock the kids in Charlie's room while I cleaned up the rocks and small chards of glass.
I have checked on the fish about 70 times in the last hour, and my heart is still racing, but they seems to be fine. No one was hurt, but I've been traumatized. Someone else is in charge of cleaning the fish bowl now.