Memoirs of a Crazy Mom

This is what my blog should be called. So says my sister. I was just chatting with her and telling her about the rat my 10 year-old just bought. While out on a pet store run with his dad and brother and sister. You wonder how this could be accomplished? Let me tell you - it's kind of complicated.

First, you tell your husband to take Romania to the pet store to pick out a frog and fish from an I.O.U from Christmas. He had a beta and a frog a couple years ago that didn't last very long, so I kept promising him another pair. So yesterday, Super Hero takes him to the local pet store to purchase said frog and fish. Now, this next part is my fault (Super Hero would probably argue that ALL of it is my fault, but whatever). He took all three chillun's with him. And Romania came home with a giant frog (giant as is 4" instead of a tiny water frog to keep the beta company). And he didn't get a beta. He got some fish that cost $4 and I don't even know what kind of fish it is. The frog is called a "Dumpy" frog. But Romania is calling it "Dur" because it was dirty when he saw it. I keep trying to convince him to change the name to Dumpy but he won't do it.

Normally when humans buy pets, they find out what kind of food they need to eat. But Super Hero did not do this. Which is why he needed a second trip to the pet store to find out what to feed the critters. My only involvement was calling the store to find out their hours. I didn't think I should have to get involved with this project. But apparently when dads are left to purchase pets and take kids places, they come home with mutant animals and stowaways. When they got home this afternoon, Egypt and Romania ratted on their brother. And that is such a good intended pun - Holland actually purchased a rat. I do not know where he got money. He actually owes me money for breaking some things. But while Super Hero was helping Romania figure out what type of food he needed, Holland was off buying a rat. When Super Hero figured out what happened, he couldn't get Holland back in the store to return it. So when he got home, naturally it was to become MY problem and I was told I needed to return the rat. I said "thanks, but no thanks". Holland said we couldn't return it because he ripped up the receipt.

And you think I'm buyin' this kid a dog? Think again.