Fair enough

Yesterday, my wonderful sister-in-law took my son to a parish fair with all of her kids. (My niece Nathalie told me she didn't want to go somewhere that meant you could die--"perish"!)

I was grateful to have a couple hours to myself, and Mark was thrilled to get some time with his cousins. Mary said she'd pick Mark up, so he rushed to get ready. I gave him $20 for the fair, and he promised to bring back $5.

And then he waited for his aunt to arrive. And waited a little more. I was about to call Mary and ask if I should deliver Mark, when we heard a knock at the door. It was Nathalie, who informed us there'd been a slight mishap.

"We were on the freeway, and my mom screamed, 'I forgot to pick up Mark!'" Nathalie laughed. "So we had to come back for him."

I usually wouldn't send my son off with a babysitter who forgets him, but hey, this was family, which meant the babysitting was free. Sometimes you get what you pay for!

When I arrived home, the first thing my brother Scott said was, "I hope you like fish."

I thought he was referring to dinner, so I said fish is fine by me.

"No, I hope you like fish," he repeated. "Go check the cooler in the kitchen."

I did, and realized we weren't talking dinner menus. The cooler was filled with this:



"Did they win all these fish?" I asked, incredulous. "There must be a dozen in there!"

"Eleven," Mary corrected. "That's what happens when you're at the fair at closing time. The kids heard someone yelling 'Free fish!' and rushed to get them."

My niece Gabi couldn't wait to point out her fish, which she named Fat Albert. Mark pointed out his three, which he couldn't wait to take home.

"Um, you remember we have two cats, right?" I asked. "Two very focused killer cats, who would love eating fresh fish?"

Mark realized that fish and cats don't make the best roommates, and offered to donate them to my nephew's pre-school. "Goodbye, Joe Bubba Junior," he said.

"Which one is that?" I asked, peering into the cooler.

"All of them," he answered. "One's Joe, one's Bubba, one's Junior."

We ate dinner, and then Mary presented dessert, which Mark had purchased for the family--$8 worth of pastries.

"They're home-made!" he told me, as if he'd never heard of such a thing. (I really must cook more.)

Mary told me how he and Grant ran off to the dessert booth. Mary realized maybe that wasn't such a good idea, so she rushed over and asked the woman working there if she'd just seen a little boy run by.

"I've seen a lot of boys run by," the cashier told Mary.

"This was a diabetic little boy!" Mary clarified. "In the dessert booth!"

"Oooh, that's not good," the cashier agreed.

But it all worked out. Mark was feeling generous with my money, and spent it all on dessert for the family instead of himself. (He actually spent every last penny I gave him--including the $5 he promised to bring back.) Which worked out well, except when Mark took one bite of his pastry and proclaimed he didn't like it. Goodbye, $8 in pastries...

But in the end, it was fine. The kids had a blast, I got some time off, and my sis-in-law got some good laughs. And nobody "perished"...or so I thought.

"I named mine Broc, Shoe and Ninja Fishy!" Nathalie texted me this morning, updating me on the fish status. Followed immediately by a second message that read, "Shoe's dead, though."

Here's hoping the 10 other Shoes don't drop...