Killer Kiwi #7

He should have never been there in the first place, but on Tuesday he was still there: Dr. Maximus Von Goldfischel, swimming in my downstairs toilet for going on three days now. I had made a rookie mother mistake: leaving Todd alone with his grandfather for a whole afternoon, without adequate instructions, while I took a pottery workshop at the park center. I didn’t tell my dad that Todd, who turned four next month, had been taking it upon himself to rearrange the house. Patio plants in the shower because they needed more water. Three bedrooms worth of pillows in his room because he “needed to relaaaax.” It’s taxing being three.

And then there was the fish. My dad had gamely played catch in the front yard for thirty minutes, trying to follow the Toddster’s ever-changing scoring rules. He then collapsed on the living room couch and dozed off on the job, in which time Todd came to an important understanding. “The bowl was TOO SMALL, Mommy,” he explained earnestly to me later, as I stood with my forehead against the bathroom wall, trying not to scream at him. “Max is a BIGBOYNOW. Like me.” Todd is very into the fact that he is a BIGBOYNOW. It’s why he can pick out his own clothes, won’t let me cut up his spaghetti, and can watch, according to him, as much TV as he wants.

And so Todd went about making Max a new, BIGBOY home.

“Oh GOD,” I said. “Are those my necklaces?”
“Max needed rocks,” said Todd. “Like on a beach!”
“Oh sh-shoot,” said his father. “My model car. I thought I had that up higher.”
“For him to play in!” said Todd.

After setting up a wonderland in the downstairs toilet, Todd had climbed onto a kitchen chair and taken Max’s small bowl off the counter. He marched into the bathroom and upended the bowl into the toilet. The small orange fish slipped happily into his new home. Todd shook some fish flakes into the bowl and watched for a minute. Satisfied, he grabbed the wet, empty bowl and headed back to the kitchen. And dropped it. The crash finally woke my father.

Three days later I still hadn’t been able to drive all the way out to the mall and get the fish a new bowl. If it goes on any longer he’s going to migrate to my biggest flower vase. But for now, Todd’s daddy and I stand in the downstairs bathroom, arms around each other, staring down at Dr. Maximus Von Goldfischel. The handle is taped up, and a giant DON'T FLUSH sign sits atop the tank.

“No one told me my life would come to this,” he says. “I’m not up to it.”
I lean my head against his shoulder. “You are, darling,” I say. “You’re a big boy now.”