The Sea Monkey Chronicles

If it isn't blatantly obvious, I am procrastinating, so I don't have to go back to the arduous task of packing my kitchen. Why else would I be blogging about something like sea monkeys?

Gabe, (bless his strange, strange, little heart), has wanted to have his very own sea monkey habitat for, well, forever. He was happy to settle for this rudimentary option when I informed him awhile back that he couldn't have a fish tank yet, and must've been fairly dead-set on this little miracle of science, because it was one of the first things he scribbled down on his Christmas list this year. Considering he didn't give me a whole lot of "realistic" options on his list (a toy tornado?), I was happy to oblige his request, and on Christmas morning, he was thrilled to discover his very own sea monkey starter-kit under the tree.

It goes without saying that Christmas Day was beyond chaotic, shuffling the kids between 87 different locations, so that everyone had their "turn" (sigh). By the time they returned to my house late that afternoon, all of the day's excitement had not been enough to distract Gabe from the pressing task at hand-- the single most important thing he'd been waiting for-- hatching his sea monkeys. I had about a million other things to do that did not involve sea monkey birth, like collecting the mess of wrapping paper off the floor, beginning to unwire all of the toys from their packages (whoever invented toy packaging devices should be considered a terrorist, in my personal opinion), and tend to three whiny, very exhausted children. None of this mattered to Gabe, of course. He just wanted those darn sea monkeys, and he wanted them now.

Fine, fine. Give Mommy a chance to, I don't know, use the bathroom without being disturbed?-- and I'll get right on those sea monkeys. At this point, I was kind of questioning what must have been going through my mind when I decided to buy them, but I figured it couldn't be that hard, and began reading the instructions. Okay, there are three little packets here, clearly numbered in order. I can figure this out... Wait... Oh, c'mon! Oh, you've got to be joking! We have to wait 24-hours for the water to purify? I groaned, knowing this unpleasant news was going to send Gabe, (who was already cranky from the events of the day), spiraling into a wave of drama from which he would likely never recover.

Um, Gabe? Honey? Sweetheart? Sugar-plum? I have some bad news.... Well, that did it. The tears started, as well as a lot of groaning, and big, dramatic, sweeping hand gestures, that only served to highlight the absolute injustice that had just befallen him. It was, in fact, the end of the world. But I can't wait 24-hours! That will take forever! He was not to be consoled. After Gabe began to come to his senses a bit, I explained the necessity for the water purification, emphasizing the fact that his primitive new pets would, in fact, die, if he ignored the 24-hour rule. Although he was still incredibly disgusted by the idea, he agreed to wait until he returned Monday morning to introduce his sea monkey eggs to their new home.

Geez, all it takes is some lousy shrimp eggs to screw up one kid's holiday.

Bright and early, at 6:30 Monday morning, the kids returned home, and the very first words out of Gabe's mouth were, "Mommy! Let's do my sea monkeys now! It's been 24-hours!" Lovely, sweetheart. I've only been awake for 15-minutes, I broke my nose yesterday afternoon, have a splitting headache, and haven't even peed yet this morning, but sure, we'll be sure and hatch those sea monkeys. So, as promised, I tore open the little packet with the big number "2" on it, and dumped it into the water. The packaging reads "instant life--sea monkeys", but I instantly saw nothing. I mean, I knew they were teeny-tiny and everything, but there was nothing to be seen. Gabe was displeased (and that's putting it mildly). After managing to distract them for a bit with some breakfast, I decided to consult the official sea monkey website for some answers. The fact that there is an entire website devoted to the details of sea monkey life is a little disturbing, but then again, I'm devoting an entire blog (or more) to it, so who am I to talk?

Upon perusing the website, I discovered that I needed to stir the water gently after dumping the second packet into the tank. Well, it sure would be nice if they indicated that on the actual packaging, instead of just showing you a cartoon of someone sprinkling the contents in the water, but whatever. So, I stirred, and still, there was nothing. Great. There was absolutely no way on the planet that I was going to tell Gabe that our project had failed, so I side-stepped the issue and told him we'd check on the tank again in a little while, to see how things were going. Yeah, that little line continued on into Tuesday.

Highly dissatisfied with the progress of our little experiment, I took the kids to Toys 'R Us Wednesday morning to fetch a new starter packet. By golly, we are going to grow some darn sea monkeys if it's the last thing we do! Of course, this mind-set was also coming from someone who has failed at keeping a house plant alive, so the fact that I had yet to succeed at a scientific process that had an actual "guarantee" attached to it was not surprising. We returned home, starter packets in hand, and I once again consulted the website, to insure that I didn't screw this up again. I wasn't sure Gabe could take anymore disappointment, and if we had failed again, I'm pretty sure he would've started questioning the meaning of life at that point.

So, there I was, navigating their impossible website, when I ran across a portion that reminded new sea monkey owners that they might not see any signs of life at first, but that they should not dump out the water, because there could very well be tiny baby sea monkeys alive and well inside the tank. Well, I certainly couldn't risk adding "sea monkey murder" to my long list of sins, so I decided to check the tank one last time before adding the new eggs. Lo and behold, there they were! Teeny-tiny, little baby sea monkeys, propelling themselves around their new home! What the? Okay, these things look like sperm. Are you serious? Wow. I got my child a sperm farm for Christmas. I am officially Mother of the Year.

Although I was pretty disturbed by the sperm resemblance, I happily called Gabe into the kitchen to introduce him to his new pets. He grabbed the magnifying glass and excitedly peered into the tank with a huge, goofy grin on his face. I see them! There's a whole sea monkey family! He was beaming-- a proud new papa if I'd ever seen one. His faith in the world had been restored by the proven existence of baby shrimp in a little red plastic tank.

Since then, Gabe has been religiously checking on his first-born, and is quite excited to give them their first feeding tomorrow. After doing more reading on the website, I was shocked to find out that a sea monkey habitat can last as long as two years, because they reproduce and so forth (I knew sperm had to come into play somehow). So, providing Gabe is a responsible parent, this little project could last us some time to come, and I am sure there will be many an interesting tale involving our latest additions (hence the title of this particular entry). I just hope they survive the move, in approximately 16 days. Speaking of which, I should probably quit rambling about shrimp and get back to packing.

The Broken Nose Story

So, although I should be packing for our move, which is in approximately 17 days, I've had enough demand for "The Broken Nose Story" that I need to get this out of the way. Geez, you people are pushy ;-)

So, without going into too much personal detail, the days surrounding Christmas were extremely stressful. I got notice that I was being kicked out of my house, had to secure a new place to live, and wrestled with the fact that I had only 3-weeks to pack up a family of four and a 2400 square-foot house on my own. On top of that, there was the typical, emotional, recently-divorced holiday drama, which was highly unpleasant, to say the least. Between all of that, and just the normal level of exhaustion that plagues us all around the holidays, I was pretty well spent.

After surviving Christmas Day (a miracle, if there ever was one), my brother came over that night so we could wrap up our viewing of "Megashark VS. Crocosaurus" (holiday classic, of course), and he brought some Sonic food with him. I was initially aggravated when he showed up, 8-mile long chili-cheese coney and fries in hand for himself, and nothing for me (sniff, sniff), but when the fast-food Gods smiled in my favor and screwed up his order, I scored some free tater tots, for which I happily gloated. My gloating, (as well as a few other rotten comments that will go unmentioned), came back to bite me in the rear around 4:30 in the morning.

Food poisoning! Yes! Just what everyone wants for Christmas, of course, and what caused me to shoot chunks of tater tots from my mouth and nose for a good 20-minutes. I knew that karma had paid me a visit in the wee hours of that morning, so I quickly acknowledged and apologized for my wrong-doing, and crawled back into bed. I awoke around 9:30, feeling decent enough to eat some breakfast, and around noon, I felt good enough to try to tackle some day-after-Christmas bargain shopping.

If there is one thing that I have never learned, it is how not to push myself. I'm stubborn and determined, so if I have my mind set on something, there isn't a whole lot that can successfully stand in my way. I managed to knock a few stores off of my list, purchasing some new bed pillows that I'd been coveting for months, as well as a new pair of boots for work. I felt pretty good, and was staying hydrated, so I ventured on to the next store so I could purchase some work pants with a gift card I had received for Christmas.

Even after what seemed like an eternity in the dressing room, I felt fine, albeit a little tired. I conceded that this would probably be my last store for the day, and that I should probably head home for a nap, and got in line to pay for my pants. Right before it was my turn at the register, a very strange feeling came over me that only reassured me that my decision to go home was the right one. I removed my coat, and took a drink of water, but nothing helped. I grew increasingly warm, light-headed, and a little nauseous, but made it to the register, where I apologized to the cashier for leaning on the counter, explaining I didn't feel well. She hurried through my transaction, and I asked her if there was a place I could sit down once I completed my purchase. She went to grab a chair, and pointed to where it was, and that was the last thing I remember.

I woke up on the cold tile floor, with people standing over me, asking me a battery of questions, like, "Can you hear us?" and "Do you have any conditions we should know about?" I could hear them, obviously, but everything was dark, and my nose hurt. When I finally opened my eyes, there were people talking to me, offering ways to help and so forth, but at that point, I felt a million times better, although my nose had grown increasingly painful. That's when it started bleeding profusely, and once I got to the point where I could stand up and walk to the aforementioned chair, I had already soaked through a couple of handfuls of paper towels. Good times.

So there I was, like a total rock star, sitting in a chair, holding a paper towel to my face. Stellar. I called my parents to come pick me up, and then called my brother to relay my hilarious story. It was clear that my body had basically reached its breaking point, and although I wish I could sit here and say that I got into a fight with someone over a really cute outfit, that simply wasn't the case. It's still funny, though.

After I got home and assessed the damage, I realized that I had actually split my nose, just below my septum, and along my right nostril, but nothing major. We figure I must have hit the counter on the way down, or something. My insurance wasn't due to kick in for another 6 days, so even if I had needed stitches, I probably wouldn't have gotten them. I was just thankful I didn't bust anything else. Lord knows I can't afford dental work as a working, single mom.

Now I'm just dealing with the joys of swelling and sinus congestion. My right nostril started to drain yesterday, which means that the swelling is going down, I guess. Not that I can blow my nose anyway, because it's far too uncomfortable, but it's better than being congested. Last night, I sneezed for the first time, and it shot pain clear down into my front teeth and back into my ears. Besides those rare occasions when the pain is escalated, it basically just feels like a bad sinus headache, and the splits are healing up nicely. Scars are cool, anyway.

So, that's it. Nobody beat me up. I wasn't in an accident. I was just a victim of holiday stress, who refused to let go of a cute pair of pants.